All in Time
by DanyaKat
Summary: "Has it occurred to you that maybe I am tired of hatred? I've lived my whole life with hatred shoved down my throat, I was practically fed intolerance at my mother's breast, and what has it gotten me?" After the war, Harry and Draco enter an odd friendship. And who can blame Harry if the blonde git gets under his skin so much? HP/DM slash, a bit angsty. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there! Hope your holidays were wonderful. Here for the nee year, a new story I hope you enjoy. If you like it, please don't hesitate to leave a review. All rights to JKR. Xo**

* * *

 **All in Time**

 **A Horrible Year**

It had been a horrible summer, Harry thought, standing on the platform of the clock tower of Hogwarts one night. He looked out the clear glass of the clock's face at the front gates. Smoke was rising steadily from Hagrid's hut, curling and dissipating into the chilly spring air. Harry could smell the fresh grass and budding Whomping Willow on the breeze that came in through the glassless windows on the wall opposite the clock. He took yet another swig of his firewhiskey, mulling the past nine months through his heavily drunken mind.

The few weeks after the fall of Lord Voldemort had been filled with funerals, memorials, dedications, Wizengamot trials, Prophet reports. Christ, the reports had been murder, and why had he needed bother with giving eight draining interviews, when the Quick-Quote Quills only hacked apart his words anyway? By the time he had put his foot down on using the quills, everything the reporters wanted to print had been printed. There was no defending himself from Rita Skeeter's accusations that Harry had been the one with the whole scheme, not Dumbledore, all along; that he and Dumbledore had orchestrated the Headmaster's murder together. Xaviar Voldak had convinced half of Wizarding Europe that Harry needed deep psychological testing, to prove that there was no threat of an aspiring, deranged new Dark Lord. Harry had stopped receiving the Prophet after that, but the papers had done their job. He hadn't necessarily wanted hero-worship, but it would have been better than suspicious whisperings and fearful faces he saw on the street.

The funerals, however, had been thrice-fold exhausting as the articles. Two and a half weeks of services, nine just the first weekend that Harry was obligated to attend—that was the weekend that the mass ceremony for the Hogwarts students had been held on the grounds, as well. Harry spoke at that one, faltering and stumbling over words that Hermione had put together for him. He supposed they made complete, meaningful sentences, but Merlin's left tit if he could remember what came out of his mouth. Lavender's mum had spoken. The Creeveys (and how did McGonagall manage to explain to muggles that their child was killed in a wizarding war that they had no clue was going on in the first place?). Some parents of the other fallen students spoke. Headmistress McGonagall gave a beautiful speech about bravery and honor and hope. But the deaths of fifty-plus people could have been avoided if only Dumbledore hadn't kept Harry in the dark. If Harry had known all along, if he hadn't had to go through months of solving some convoluted puzzle, he could have been prepared, so many lives could have been spared.

Harry battled with the Ministry to give Severus Snape his dues. Even after he had shown Snape's memories, the powers that be refused to so much as suggest that he was anything other than a Death Eater. Harry finally went above their heads to Shacklebolt to get Severus his much deserved Order of Merlin, First Class. He planned the funeral, to which an estranged sister of his mother's, McGonagall, and the guarded Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were the only attendees. Harry vaguely wondered where Draco had been, but was too stunned to ask after Lucius shambled up to him, followed by an Auror, to shake Harry's hand and thank him for going so far out of his way. Harry could do nothing but accept the offered hand and gratitude, and wonder at the humbled, frail presence of the once proud man.

Fred Weasley's funeral had been an interesting affair. Molly and George nearly brought the Burrow down with their ferocious arguing over how Fred's ceremony should be handled. Molly wanted a mournful affair in a rented parlour, with respectful whisperings and tea and quiet speeches. George knew better. He insisted on a party at the Burrow, with fireworks and drinks and dancing. Harry had seen George's quiet anger—when he had rescued Harry from the Dursley's and the twins had seen how he was treated; when Malfoy sent a wind charm up Ginny's skirt in the corridors in her third year; many times during Umbridge's reign—but never had Harry seen him explode in a fit of uncontrolled magic. Tendrils of crackling, electrical magic whipped around Harry, Hermione, and the other Weasleys in the kitchen as George hollered that to mourn Fred in such a way as his mother's desire was to insult his memory. Harry silently agreed, and as he looked around the room, so did everyone else. Eventually, after Arthur got into the middle of mother and son, Percy spoke—it was the first time Harry had heard him speak since Fred died. "Mother," he said quietly, but firmly, "George is right. The best way to honour Fred is to mourn him the way that he would want to be mourned. I believe you know this is the right way, but are caught between the 'should-do's' of Fred's personality and society. From experience, Mother, when it comes to family, forget society." Molly had looked between Percy and George, rose from the table, and left out the back door into the sunny garden. She came back a half hour later, hugged George, and told him he was right. The memorial three days later was held in the garden of the Burrow, where the firewhiskey and butterbeer flowed plentiful, and the flower-fragrant breeze wrapped around the thirty-plus attendees as they shared stories and laughed. George, Harry noticed, took particular solace in the once-Gryffindor Keeper, Angelina Johnson, and he had to smile a bit to himself, happy that George had someone like that.

Ginny had tried to approach him, presumably to re-kindle old feelings, but Harry wasn't ready in the slightest for any of this. He didn't know how he was supposed to be attracted to Ginny, to give her the love she deserved, when he felt such a gnawing pit sucking in his core, feeding off most of the emotion he had for himself. Ginny deserved so much more; she deserved everything, and Harry could give nothing. Not right now, at least.

Which led him to his biggest worry: Edward Remus Lupin.

Harry and Andromeda had planned the Lupins' funerals together. Remus and Dora had been buried together in the Tonk's family plot. Harry spent his time after the battle with Andromeda and Teddy in her home, refusing to let the baby not know who his godfather was. After all, in two short years, he would be the sole person responsible for him, or so said Remus and Dora's will. It had been bittersweet, holding a sleeping Teddy to his chest while he read the infant's parent's will. It stated that Harry was to take full custody of Teddy in the event of their deaths, unless Harry was under twenty, in which case custody would be temporarily given to Andromeda until the thirty-first of July, two-thousand. That was a year and four months away, and while Harry had spent every hour he could with the eleven-month-old, he couldn't shake the fear that he would be a terrible guardian. Andromeda had taught Harry how to change a diaper, how to kiss an owie better. She had been trying to find him help to clear and prepare Grimmauld Place for Teddy while he was at Hogwarts. He loved Teddy. He wanted to be the best father he could for him.

His biggest fear was that he would fail miserably and fuck up an innocent child worse than the Dursleys had fucked up himself.

Harry took another biting gulp of firewhiskey.

It had also been a horrible winter. After the war was over, Death Eaters had been locked up left and right. Lucius Malfoy had been convicted of being a Death Eater and for associated hate crimes and sent to Azkaban for fifteen years. Narcissa Malfoy had been found guilty of crimes by association, for standing by and letting her husband invite Voldemort into their home. She had been sentenced to house arrest for three years, and a probationary period afterward of at least one. Draco Malfoy had confessed to taking the Dark Mark and creating a passage for Death Eaters to invade Hogwarts that fateful night their sixth year. For this, and for swearing repentance, he was given house arrest, until that September, with leave for mandatory community service—helping to the castle—under direct supervision of an auror, and then three years' probation. He was also lawfully compelled to return to Hogwarts and finish his education, so that he might be able to become a useful member of wizarding society. One of the stipulations, Harry had heard, was that Draco was to take Muggle Studies, which was led by a new teacher who had a brand new lesson plan. The idea was that he should learn a new acceptance for muggles and muggle-borns. Harry thought it a lost cause.

Harry and Hermione had gone back to study for their NEWTS exams, while Ron stayed behind and lived in the apartment above the WWW to give George a hand in the shop. The headmistress had been at a loss for what to do for the students. Some had excelled, or at least broke even, the year of the battle, and had they taken exams, they would have likely passed. Others—through no fault of their own—did horribly. Mostly people like Neville and Ginny, who were public muggle and muggle-born supporters. Hermione had been helping her with the education track and suggested an exam be sent out to all students that attended that year, whether they passed end-of-year exams or NEWTS or not, to see where they were at according to the new syllabus. If they passed, they passed the grade or kept their diplomas. If they failed, they stayed back a year. McGonagall accepted, and the results had been 58%-42%, with the lead to passing. McGonagall was worried that she would have to hire extra teachers and how things would be so off the next few years. Hermione again had a solution to this: the students who would have graduated, like Harry and Neville and herself (who would later be dubbed "eighth years") be signed on as teacher's aides. The project had gone off very well, which had Hermione looking very smug whenever she sat beside Professor Flitwick's desk, taking notes as he lectured and assisting students as needed. Harry had been appointed none other than Defense Against the Dark Arts to aid, and the teacher that had been hired for the spot—Professor Roybal—seemed to be putting to rest the curse which had been laid upon the spot since Tom Riddle had been denied the position. Roybal and Harry got along, and seemed on the same page throughout most of the lessons, and Harry certainly got his fair share of assisting other students.

Harry knew he had plenty of blessings in his life. Teddy, for one. Hermione to hang out with and to help him with homework. Ron, who sent him packages full of Weezes to test. A job that earned him his DADA credit, which was one less class he needed to study for. A girl waiting for him to come back to her.

But in the centre of it all, the gaping wound left by the war hadn't healed. The battle had been traumatic for him, but hadn't it been so much worse for those who had people to mourn? Yes, he had died, but he'd come back, healthy and physically whole. Shouldn't he be grateful for that? And he was, he knew he was.

It didn't stop him from feeling as though a Dementor had taken residence in him.

He had killed the Darkest wizard of their time. That, Harry supposed, was the problem. He had killed. It didn't matter that he as a murderer, a rapist, a xenophobe to the extreme. The fact was that he was killed, murdered, by a seventeen-year-old boy, in front of the entire wizarding world, and the lot of them had hailed him for it. Harry had gotten a lot of flak about plotting and his mental state, but no one had called him out for killing a human being.

The more Harry considered it, the wider that hole in the pit of his stomach grew. It had gnawed and gnashed its way from his stomach to his brain, to where every moment of rest that Harry had, he obsessed over what it meant. Would he turn into a killer? What would happen if he lost his temper? He'd already proved that when angry, his magic could be volatile. If that seed of evil had planted root in him, he could lose total control if angered, he reckoned.

Another long drink from the amber glass bottle in his fist, half gone, and Harry leaned forward against the ledge of clock, resting his brow on the cool glass of the face.

Without truly processing what he was thinking, Harry wondered what would happen if he kicked out a panel of the ancient glass and pushed himself through it, over the ledge, and let himself fall to the cold, unforgiving brick path below. Would it hurt? Would he feel afraid? Would he feel anything? It might be worth it if, in his last moments, he could at least feel _something_.

Another one, two, three swallows from the bottle. It burned on its way down, liquid fire ripping through his throat, but at least it was something. That was why he'd filched it from Snape's abandoned office, he supposed. He idly wondered if Snape would be trying to strangle Harry from beyond the grave for daring to enter his office, let alone steal a bottle of his finest whiskey.

A rattle of the metal spiral staircase snapped Harry out of his thoughts with a jerk and he almost dropped the bottle. With a _swish_ of his invisibility cloak, Harry covered himself and scampered to the far edge of the platform he was on. Unless he was willing to test his will-it-hurt-if-I-jump experiment, he had about five feet of empty space around him in the corner behind the staircase. He heard no voices, only a steady huff of slightly exerted breath.

Harry's breath stuck in his throat before he let out a gasp and gave himself away. Just because he had morbid, suicidal thoughts didn't mean he had a death wish, after all. He didn't think that Draco Malfoy would ask questions before stunning the pants off him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Thank you to everyone who read and followed! I hope you enjoy chapter two, and again, please feel free to leave a review. May you have a safe and happy New Year!**

* * *

 **All in Time**

 **Truce**

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! Harry didn't dare so much as breathe as Malfoy's pale blonde head rose steadily up the stairs. Long tapered fingers wrapped themselves around the handrail as he hoisted himself up onto the landing in front of Harry's hiding spot. He strode silently to the clock face and peered out, positioned similarly to the way Harry had been minutes ago. He sighed gently and ran a hand through his hair.

"Potter."

Harry jumped and gave himself away when the bottle rolled from his grasp.

"You can quit hiding. I know you're there and I have no interest in either fighting you or having a conversation with someone whom I cannot see."

Harry cautiously tugged the cloak off of himself, wand sloppily pointed at Malfoy.

Malfoy scoffed at him. He was dressed in a fur-lined black cloak and black dragonhide boots and his green Slytherin tie could just be seen above the toggle clasps of his cloak. "If I wanted to hurt you I would have done it while you were hiding like a child. Put the wand away before you injure yourself." Malfoy's voice was full of derision, still smooth as satin. Harry bristled at the statement.

"Wouldn't be the first time you'd tried to ambush me."

"Sectumsempra ring a bell?"

Malfoy turned to stare out the glass and it gave Harry a chance to clear his features from where they had dropped. He swallowed thickly but didn't respond to the comment.

Instead, he asked, "why are you here?"

Malfoy turned back with a one-shouldered shrug. His pale pointed face glowed in the light filtering in from the moon and he looked…unhealthy. He'd always been pale as moonlight anyhow, but now there was a sickening yellowish tint to his face and dark bags under his grey eyes that Harry had failed to notice in passing in the halls.

"I saw you come up here one night. It made me curious. I asked Winky if you came up here often and she told me nearly every night. I've kept tabs on you for nearly a month now, and I must say, you're going through my godfather's private selection like a man who's been in a desert for a year."

"What I do is none of your business, Malfoy." Later, Harry would have guessed that his words would have held more leverage if half of them had not been slurred.

Malfoy quirked a lip. "Perhaps. Of course, everything of my godfather's is now mine, so technically, you're stealing my firewhiskey. One made by German dwarves in 1603, as it happens. It's a wonderful year, one to be appreciated and savored, and you're just _drinking_ it with the sole intention of being _drunk_. I take offense to that more than any insults you could fling at me."

Harry picked the bottle up from the floor, uncorked it, took another deep swig, and passed it to Malfoy. "Savor away," he hissed through his teeth at the burn bubbling through to his stomach.

Malfoy stepped forward and took the drink gingerly. He lifted the bottle to his own mouth and took a modest mouthful. He, too, hissed, though quieter and with more appreciation for it than Harry had had. "What I'd hoped it would be."

"So why are you following me?" Harry asked. He swayed slightly and Malfoy caught him by the elbow and led him to the ledge of the clock face. Harry didn't take much notice that it was Malfoy helping him—the world was spinning too quickly. Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry and he flinched for his wand a moment too late. The instant the wandlight hit him, his head unclouded and his limbs cooperated with his brain better. He wasn't quite back to sober, but far better than he had been.

Harry was debating whether to thank Malfoy when the blonde interrupted his thoughts—

"Are you bloody _trying_ to kill yourself?"

"I thought answering questions with another question is against your upbringing."

"Yes, well, most points of my breeding aren't what they're so cracked up to be. Answer my question, then I will answer yours. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Harry brought his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Yes or no, both answers were truth and lie at the same time. "Not…exactly," he muttered.

"A proper answer requires more elaboration."

Harry sighed. This is what he had been brought to, he supposed. Answering difficult questions from the one person in the world he had never wanted to speak to again. "I'm not…sure. Let's put it this way…I wouldn't jump from a broomstick, but if I fell, I wouldn't cast a cushioning charm. Does that answer your question?"

Harry chanced a look up at Malfoy and saw, rather than disdain, a sad expression that looked suspiciously like pity. Harry didn't want his pity, but he had to admit that after telling his thoughts to someone, pity was better than what he had hoped for.

Malfoy turned away from Harry and slumped down the ledge until he was sitting on the floor, shoulders resting just at the ledge. Harry, now feeling more stable, unfolded his legs from where they had been flat-footed on the floor and stretched them out in front of himself, crossing them at the ankles.

"I'll answer your question in a moment, Potter, but just answer my own quickly—what the hell are you wearing?"

The question startled Harry out of his own thoughts and he looked at Malfoy, whose eyes were trained on his shoes.

They were white (at least, when Dudley had gotten them, they were. Now they were a dingy-dirt brown.) with lime-green accents and laces, which were tatty and held with duct tape and a charm of Hermione's on its last leg.

"Er—shoes?"

Malfoy poked at them and Harry was, if possible, even more shocked. Malfoy had touched him. Not in a manner to do him harm or instigate a fight, but casually, the way he would touch Hermione or Ron.

" _I_ am wearing shoes. _You_ are wearing something that looks dredged out of the lake."

"Well forgive me if I can't afford thousand-galleon boots."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "For your information, they weren't even ninety—" _(Weren't even ninety_ , Harry mouthed to himself over Malfoy's voice.) "—and you could afford it. I've heard what the Potter accounts have, and while not as much as my own family's wealth, your great-grandchildren could live off of the money you have at this very moment, not to mention interest and stock gains." He poked again at Harry's ratty trainers. "Merlin, they're not even the right size!"

Harry ducked his head at this. He'd stuffed a pair of wadded-up socks into his shoes for five years, ever since Dudley's last growth spurt had left him wearing what felt like clown shoes.

"Trust me, Potter, you have enough money to pay for a new, custom-tailored wardrobe and not miss a single knut."

"You going to answer my question, Malfoy, or am I going to leave now?"

Malfoy snorted. "You couldn't leave now if you wanted to. You'd stumble down the stairs and fall to your death, and I'd be stuck cleaning up your remains before someone could accuse me of murdering you. Sober up some and I'll help you to your dorm.

"As for your question…it's a long one to answer. I suppose I'm following you because some miniscule part of me is worried about you."

Harry met Malfoy's eyes and though guarded, seemed truthful. "Why on earth would you worry about me? After eight years of hatred between us, why?"

Malfoy looked angry for a moment, but smoothed out his features quickly. Anger still lurked in his eyes, though, as he spoke, "has it occurred to you that maybe I am tired of hatred? I've lived my whole life with hatred shoved down my throat, I was practically fed intolerance at my mother's breast, and what has it gotten me? House arrest, three years' probation, my mother's house arrest, my father in Azkaban until I am in my thirties. He will be almost sixty, and even though wizards easily live long past one hundred years, those in Azkaban for that long usually die before they're released. Hatred rewarded me with a madman taking over my home, controlling my parents like puppets from his fingers, hatred rewarded me with the second use of sectumsempra on my person, when I stood up to it. The use of it on my mother, by her own sister.

"That is why, after eight years of hatred, I choose not to hate anymore. So yes, I am worried about you, Potter, as I was worried about you—and the entirety of mankind, wizard and muggle alike—when you were dragged into my home nearly a year ago with a very good stinging hex on your face and I lied to save your skin."

Malfoy's tirade was ended with him breathing heavily through his flared nostrils, glaring at Harry. Harry saw that his glare was borne of anger, not hatred, as it had been in the past, and he was relieved. He offered a small smile and held his hand out toward Malfoy.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, but he lifted his hand a bit, wrist limp, as though his body was hoping more than his brain was for reconciliation.

"Harry." He thrust his hand out a bit more and Malfoy tentatively took it in his own. "Draco."

They shook hands and Harry hoped, drunkenly, brokenly hoped, that the past years would be…if not forgotten, at least forgiven. "I suppose we've both changed from the war. Thank you, by the way, for lying. I don't think I've ever truly thanked you for that."

Malfoy—Draco, Harry corrected himself—nodded and murmured a quiet thank you.

Harry broke the tense silence after a few moments. "So…your aunt cast…?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. After you and Weasley had been led away, Bella performed legilimency on me. I've never been a fantastic student at it. Adequate enough, I suppose, for the average caster, but Aunt Bella had lessons from the Dark Lord himself, so she easily got through my mind. She saw that I had protected you, and she cast the sectumsempra on me while my mother watched, and as she ordered my father to start healing me, she cast it on my mother in front of us."

"Why did she tell your father to heal you?"

Draco shook his head, "fear of punishment for acting out of her master's orders? Recognition that we were useful to a point, maybe? I'm not sure. It wasn't because she held any affection for us; that I know. Aunt Bella was far gone by the time she broke out of Azkaban."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity," Draco muttered without any real bite.

"I can say I'm sorry that you were put in that situation without feeling pity for you."

Draco nodded again. "True." He pulled the cork from the bottle of firewhiskey and took another moderate sip from it. After a moment of debate, he gave the bottle to Harry, who also took a small pull from it before handing it back.

After another tense silence, Harry again broke it. "So what happens now? Are we friends? Acquaintances who don't hate each other anymore? What?"

"Does everything need a label?" Draco moaned. "Can't we just say that we've talked things out and say we don't hate each other anymore and go from there?"

"Do you really see us spending time together without suspicion rising? One day still acting as though we hate each other, the next arm-in-arm as we stroll to the breakfast table together?"

Draco laughed, "if I'm ever found arm-in-arm with you, Potter, hit me with a very strong counter-charm, as I suspect I'll have been confunded!"

Harry laughed, and it was such a good, simple feeling, to laugh.

Dawn broke then, pink and grey and blinding white around where the sun peeked over the hills. Draco grunted as he stood and brushed off his cloak. "We'd best be getting you back to your dorm, or else you will have a lot of explaining to do to McGonagall."

Harry fumbled to the corner behind the stairwell for his cloak and pulled the Marauder's Map out of it. He whispered the passphrase as Draco looked over his shoulder.

"Hell. What is that?"

Harry smirked at him. "I'll tell you when I'm more sober." He checked over the map quickly and found McGonagall taking a walk along the lake. "We're clear. Besides, I have the cloak. How are you going to make it all the way down to the dungeons?"

Draco smirked, himself, "the only upside of probation—" he held out his right hand and showed Harry a glinting titanium bracelet. "If I do any wrongdoing, this will paralyze me and warn the aurors on my case. I can't be framed or accused of anything. Either I did it, or I didn't."

"That seems…miserable."

Draco shrugged. "Two years and one month, and it will be ancient history." Draco started down the stairs and Harry followed him, not stumbling but a bit unsteady still. "I'll stop you if you fall, Potter."

"If I fall, I'll take you out with me," Harry warned with a chuckle.

"Yes, well, at least I won't have to hide your body."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to all of the readers and faves/follows! I'd love it if you like the story, drop a quick review. Hope everyone had a reat start to 2016! Please enjoy the new chapter! XO**

* * *

 **All in Time**

 **Contributing**

One of the perks, Harry found, of being an eighth year, was that there was no room for those students in the traditional dorms. As such, everyone had been given their own quarters—unused  
classrooms divided in half and fitted with bathrooms, just enough room for one person. Harry's were located about twelve feet from a certain statue of a one-eyed, humpbacked witch, and Harry couldn't believe his luck. Originally it had been Neville's, but after the witch winked her only eye at him, Neville begged Harry to switch with him.

"The old woman's a creep, Harry, please."

Harry followed Neville down the hall, irritated at his friend. He'd been sleeping, the only hobby worth his while, when the other young man had pounded on his door and requested a trade.

"There. See? Even if she hadn't winked at me, she's still a right sight to look at."

Harry grinned. "Absolutely, Nev. Don't worry about it, I'll have Winky move our things during afternoon classes."

Neville smiled, "thanks, Harry. I owe you one."

Harry had been through the old crone's hump and down the tunnel into Honeyduke's a few times since then. Never mind that he didn't have to sneak around anymore—as long as they were responsible, eighth-years could do as they wished on the weekends. But there was something of nostalgia in it that Harry enjoyed. That and being alone in his wanderings. Hermione rarely went into Hogsmeade on the weekends, and Harry didn't want to go with anyone besides her.

So as it was, Harry found himself hoisting himself out of the one-eyed-witch's hump (whom he affectionately referred to as Clementine) Sunday evening. Draco had left Harry on his bed with another sobering charm and a hangover draught on the bedside table, so that when he woke that early afternoon, he had no headache or sick stomach.

He went in search of Hermione, but found her buried under a mound of books, and when she glared at him for daring to say hello, he retreated with his hands in the air to look for something else to do. A look out a passing window told him that it was far too rainy to hop on a broomstick. He could have studied, he figured, but after a quarter of an hour reading the same sentence and not absorbing a syllable of it, he slammed the book shut, grabbed up his warmest cloak, and left for Hogsmeade. Perhaps he could pick up a bag of Hermione's favorite sugar quills as a peace offering, he thought.

He'd had a decent time, he figured. He'd found the sweets for Hermione and also a box of cloud puffs, which dissolved so rapidly, he figured that they would be safe for Teddy. He already had six teeth and was breaking in a seventh, according to An's letter a week prior.

Harry had also stopped by Tailyn's Dresser, a medium-grade clothing shop, and found a pair of decent quality black leather shoes. Tailyn offered to put Dudley's old trainers in the box as Harry tied up the shoes, but he interrupted her with a curt, "burn them".

The last thing Harry expected to see when he exited Clementine's hump was Draco Malfoy to be leaning against his door, arms crossed, eyes shut…relaxing? Was Draco possible of relaxing, Harry wondered? Under his breath, Harry muttered the password into his room— _Noctua Album_ —and took great joy as the door swung inward and Draco fell backward onto his arse, a look of great surprise on his face.

"You're dead, Potter," Draco groaned as he sat up from the hard floor. Harry grinned down at him and extended a hand. Draco begrudgingly grasped it and allowed Harry to help him up. His fine blonde hair was mussed over his face and there was a thin layer of dirt on his robes. He reached to brush off the dust with one hand and fix his hair with the other, a well-practiced gesture, it seemed, because each strand was perfectly back in place in one sweep. Harry bent and gathered up Draco's bag for him, trying desperately to bite back a smirk.

"I couldn't resist. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I was bored."

"And I'm supposed to entertain you?" Harry lit the candles with a swish of his wand and sent the fireplace ablaze with another. He dropped his and Draco's bags on the bed.

"You're my only friend here, after all. Why are you stomping about like that?" Draco glared at Harry's feet as though they personally offended him. "You got new shoes."

"Yes, I did. Just today, and I think I'll need to get used to them. They're a lot smaller than the last ones I had."

"Tailyn's?"

"They're the only ones open on a Sunday in Hogsmeade."

"Hmm. I suppose they'll have to do for now. I'll need to set you up with my tailor."

"Is he any good?"

Draco lifted a sardonic eyebrow at him and his lip curled.

Harry put his hands up in surrender, "stupid question, I know, I know."

"Angelo is the best, just so you know." Draco delicately seated himself in one of the low brown armchairs in front of the fireplace and looked around the place.

Harry supposed it was nice. All of the rooms were done up in neutral themes; he guessed it was to further distinguish their class from the rest of the school. The walls were a plain light brown with a high, intricately carved mahogany ceiling. There was a decent window to the left of the door that let in the last of the day's grey light through the gauzy curtains. The fireplace and bed were against the wall opposite the door, the door to the bathroom by the foot of the bed. There was a good-sized desk next to the entry door to do his schoolwork at, and a low bookshelf by the bathroom door which was dinged and scratched up from the number of times Harry had accidentally thrown the handle into it.

Harry hung his cloak on the back of the door and tossed his scarf and hat haphazardly onto the pile of parchment on the desk. He sat in the other chair and glanced at Draco awkwardly. What were they to do now?

After a moment, Draco spoke, "there was a reason I stopped by, actually. Granger's good at Arithmancy, right?"

Harry tilted his head. "If by 'good' you mean 'motivated beyond the point of obsession to excel', then yes. She's good. Tea?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Harry stood and filled the kettle with water from his wand and set it on the grate above the fire. He set about getting cups ready and gestured for Draco to continue speaking as he did so.

"I have a question for her about our most recent assignment, but fuck me if she'll talk to me on principle of being a Malfoy."

Harry looked over at Draco and was surprised to see that beyond the thin veil of boredom that masked his face, there was a look in his eye that seemed a bit distressed when he spoke of Hermione not wanting to talk with him. Harry tucked that piece of information away for himself and sat back down in the chair.

"I could ask her. When is the assignment due?"

"Next Monday."

"No wonder she's so stressed today. I'll talk to her tomorrow about it and let you know."

Draco nodded in thanks.

The kettle went off and Harry made the tea and served it to Draco, who fixed it with a spoonful of sugar. Harry made a face and poured enough milk and sugar into his own cup to make a child shake his head.

"That's disgusting, Potter."

Harry shrugged and sipped at his tea-flavored milk.

They sat in a more comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the fire crackle and sipping tea. It was no more than Harry would be doing anyway, but having a presence—any presence—there next to him made it bearable.

"Wake with a hangover today?" Draco spoke quietly.

"No, thanks to you. Did you do the hangover potion?"

"Severus."

"Ah. Should have known. You're adept enough at potions, though."

"I can read from a book and follow instructions well enough, true, but I don't have the intuition or passion to excel. I only took the NEWT class for it because I'm not sure what I want to do yet and would like to keep my avenues open. So long as I get an A, that's all that really matters."

"Well there's something we have in common, then."

Draco picked up on Harry's meaning and looked a Harry, confused. "I thought you were going to be an Auror?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "No idea what I want to do. I used to think I wanted to be an Auror—follow in my dad's footsteps, fight dark wizards, uphold justice. Dying kind of puts your life into perspective, I guess. I romanticized the idea of being an Auror because it was what was expected of me—it was easy to choose. But I don't want to do that anymore. I don't know what I want to do."

Draco set his tea on the little table between the chairs and crossed right ankle over left knee and slumped down a bit into the chair, most un-Malfoy-like, Harry thought. But maybe very Draco-like, he conceded.

"What are you good at?"

Harry shrugged. "Defense. Quidditch. Getting out of trouble."

"Getting out of trouble…talking fast?"

"Not at all."

"So a solicitor is out, then."

"Hell would freeze over before I entered law practice. Next?"

"Have you been focused on anything at all the past few months? Any new interests?"

Harry thought for a moment. Transfigurations, Charms, Defense, Astronomy. All the same. His eyes flicked around his room mindlessly, then fell on the little wrapped package of cloud puffs. "Teddy," he realized.

"Teddy? Lupin?" Draco responded.

"Yeah. He's the only thing I've been interested in for months. Wondering how to care for him, getting Grimmauld Place ready for him to live in, figuring out how the hell I'm supposed to be a father in sixteen months."

Draco nodded. "I'd heard that. You're his guardian now, aren't you?"

"Soon as I turn twenty."

Draco rubbed his chin and seemed to mull over his thoughts for a moment before speaking. "Well…who says you have to do anything?"

"Pardon?"

The blonde sighed and turned his head from the fireplace to glare at Harry for daring to be imperceptive. "Why try to juggle a career and child when you have enough money to be an at-home parent for Teddy? Do your best on the NEWT classes and exams you have now, so that when he starts school or you find something interesting, you can go to that, but for now focus on your family."

Harry stared at Draco, dumbfounded. Here he had been, stressing over a job, stressing over trying to choose something to put his effort in, when the answer had been in front of him the whole time—his godson.

"That…that's not a bad idea, Draco."

Draco flashed him a cocky smile. "Of course not, I thought of it."

Harry tossed his spoon at him but smiled. "No, but think; I could take a year off setting up house for us and take some classes."

"What classes?"

Harry shrugged. "Cooking. Child care. That sort of thing."

Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't verbally respond, which saved Harry having to toss the porcelain cup at him as well.

Harry and Draco sat quietly as he thought about it. And the more he thought, the more he liked the idea. He could be the father that Teddy deserved. He could afford the time to take him to parks, to teach him and play with him and cook for him. He could make sure he was there to tuck Teddy in at night, and there to comfort him if he got hurt.

Pondering turned to imagining, and as Harry imagined the life he could have with Teddy, part of the sucking, gnawing pit in him closed a bit. He may not know now how to take care of his godson, but fuck all if he wouldn't do everything possible to make sure he would know in a year plus's time.

Draco cleared his throat and Harry startled out of his little daydream. "I take it we've struck the nail on the head?"

Harry nodded and smiled at the Slytherin. "Thank you. You've helped me immensely. And now, I don't mean to be rude, but I've got to go talk to the Headmistress and go to get a few things settled."

Draco nodded, smirking, and waved him off. "I'll tidy up the tea mess. Go on. And Potter-don't forget about talking to Granger."

"Sure. Thanks. Bye." Harry took up his jumper from the wardrobe by the bed and tugged it on as he left. A fire was lit in his chest that rivaled the Fiendfyre still burning in the Room of Requirement, and it threatened to burn away the Dementor in his soul, and Harry couldn't imagine a better burn.

The Headmistress' gargoyle leaped aside and let him through when it saw him coming. Harry didn't have patience for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time even as it moved, and knocked on the door. It opened for him and Harry approached the desk McGonagall sat behind. She glanced up at him and held out a finger and gestured for him to sit as she finished scribbling on a piece of parchment. She ended with a flourish and tapped the note with her wand, tied it to an owl on a roost behind her, and sent the brown speckled bird out the window with it.

"Sorry about that, Potter," she sighed. She looked tired, Harry noted—happy, perhaps, in the only way McGonagall was able to exude happiness—but tired. She readjusted her hat and sat in her chair and summoned up a tray of tea and biscuits. Tea-d out, Harry picked up a chocolate biscuit and nibbled at it as she asked, "so what can I do for you, Potter?"

Harry swallowed. "Well…you remember how I had a bit of trouble finding an interest at the beginning of the year?"

McGonagall rolled her eyes with a touch of affection. "Of course. You had no interest in being an Auror, or continuing with Quidditch, or anything else. Have you finally considered an apprenticeship in something? It may be too late this year, you know. We may be able to convince someone, but you may need to play the fame card, Potter—"

Harry interrupted, "no, ma'am. I've decided to simply take my NEWT exams and leave it there for now and not follow into a business."

A tense silence followed, one where McGonagall observed Harry and vice-versa, each looking for a crack in will. None came but the Headmistress spoke first anyway—"you do not wish to further your education, or take a profession after Hogwarts?"

"Correct."

She cleared her throat tightly. "Then what, Potter, do you propose to do?" " _Be a laze-about and live off your parent's fortune?_ " He almost finished her sentence for her.

Harry grinned. "No, Headmistress. As you may know, the Lupin's will stated that I am to become guardian of their son on my twentieth birthday. Seeing as I have little over a year to learn how to be a parent, I plan to figure that out and, when the time comes, follow through with the knowledge."

The Headmistress didn't seem to have words for a moment. She cleared her throat and took a sip from her teacup, and cleared her throat again.

"Potter, I understand that you wish to provide a good life for Remus' boy. But surely the best example for a child is to see their parent responsible, working, contributing—"

"Excuse me, Headmistress, but contributing?" Harry's voice was incredulous, and there was a storm brewing in his chest. How _dare_ she? "A year ago I was running about the wilderness, piecing together a completely _insane_ puzzle left by a man who didn't give a hag's left teat about whether I made it out alive or not, only whether it served his _greater good_! I've spent near eight years now facing danger, fighting evil, watching my friends die, _dying_ and coming back and killing Voldemort. In the past six months alone I've defended people, accused people, watched the Kiss be performed on people like Stan Shunpike even though he was _under Imperious_ , and people like Dolohov get off because he was a financial backer the sodding Wizengamot." Here, McGonagall paled a bit and began backpedaling, but Harry's voice rose over hers, "I have contributed everything that I have to this fucking world and if I want to sit back and take care of the only decent family I have left so that he doesn't end up like I did with the Dursleys, then I think it's perfectly within my right. I've been responsible, I will continue to _be_ responsible, but the only person I owe my contribution to is Teddy, and sod anyone who thinks otherwise."

"I—Potter—"

Harry stood, "with all respect, Headmistress, I don't want your apology. I don't want anyone's apology, I just want people to stop expecting things of me and let me live my damned life." He sighed, hard. "I'll come back tomorrow. Just let me cool down."

Harry stormed out of the office and down the staircase. The corridor was empty. Harry started left, to his rooms, before changing his mind and turning to the right toward the front doors toward the Quidditch pitch. Realizing he had no broom, he did an about-face again and stalked toward his room. "Are you a wizard or not?" he snarled to himself, stopping dead. He pulled his wand out of his arm holster, ready to cast an Accio, halted, and suck it back in. He looked out the window at the purple dusk. The mountains were still capped with snow and Harry knew what the colors of the sunset would look like from the clock tower. Resolved on where to go, he stormed down the corridor to the staircase, only to turn with a groan toward the dungeons.

After all, he'd never been completely sober in the clock tower. He wouldn't want to break tradition now, would he?


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to those who followed, favorited, and especially reviewed! I appreciate it so much and it keeps the muse feeding me! I hope you enjoy this chapter! XO**

* * *

 **All in Time**

 **Confessions**

"I ever tell you much about my uncle Bilius?"

Ron's voice startled Harry—he jerked so hard that he fell from his bed, hit the wall on the other side, and slid with a groan to the flagstone floor.

What day was it?

"Ron?" Harry croaked. Footsteps sounded toward him and he looked to the foot of his bed. Ron stood there, looking down at Harry, his face drawn up in distaste.

"Merlin, Harry, what have you been doing?"

Something in Harry's stomach clenched and that gnawing feeling crept up his throat. He had a name for it now.

Guilt.

"Why are you here?"

Ron huffed out a breath and dropped the bag on his shoulder. He bent over and wrapped his hand around Harrys wrist, tugging. Harry went up, willing his body to be as compliant as his mind; a fruitless task. He stumbled against the redhead.

"Hell, Harry, have you washed recently? You stink of B.O. and stale whiskey and—is that vomit on your shirt?"

Harry tried to remember being sick, but couldn't, so he shrugged. "Maybe."

"All right, shower. Now." Ron lugged Harry into the bathroom and pushed him into the shower, wrenching it on cold. Harry felt a shock flash through his body and he sputtered, reaching for the handle. He turned it to a warmer temperature, yanked off his boxers and old t-shirt, and stood there, letting himself wake up.

"Anyway," Ron continued, "after Bilius' wife died, he went off the deep end. He was convinced it was his fault. She got splinched, bad, on the way to a Quidditch game he wanted to see, so he took the guilt for it. After the funeral, he started drinking. After about two weeks, Mum checked on him. He'd passed out on the floor in his own piss and shit. Mum took him home with her, sobered him up, and then hollered at him for a bit."

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. "And he what? Saw the error of his ways, quit the self-pity, got sober and became a productive member of the family?"

Ron snorted. "Eh, no. He came straight back to his house, saw the Grimm, came back howling to us and died the next day."

"The point, Ron?"

"The point is, Harry, that unless you want me to take you back to the Burrow and tell Mum what you've been up to, you'll sober up."

"Oh no, Ron, you wouldn't." Harry's voice was radiating sarcasm and Ron bristled.

"Hey listen, I get it. You went through hell and back and everyone expected you to give more. I'm not saying you don't deserve to have a bit of self-pity and wallow sometimes. But drinking yourself into incompetency for three days straight is no fucking way to deal with it."

Harry wrenched the shower off and yanked a towel from the counter. He tied it around his waist and stepped out. He left the bathroom, Ron on his heels, and sat clumsily on the bed.

Ron stood in front of him and handed him two vials. Harry uncorked them and sniffed—a regular sobering potion and hangover cure—and downed them both. He shook his head roughly as they began to work. "Shit. Thanks."

"Yeah. So. You wanna tell me why 'Mione owled me yesterday, panicked because you were so drunk, you wouldn't respond to her?"

"She came over yesterday?"

Ron scoffed, "yeah, mate. She had to force her way into your wards, and found you completely unresponsive in bed. The only reason she didn't call McGonagall is 'cos she knows your fight with her was the trigger for it.

"Something else odd—she said Malfoy was the one who asked her to check on you."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Malfoy and I have been…on speaking terms." Harry got up and searched in his wardrobe for clothes and dressed in jeans and a Weasley jumper from that Christmas.

He turned to see Ron looking at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"What?"

Ron shook his head. "Nothing. Just…everything's changed so much. You're taking benders, talking to Malfoy. 'Mione's changing her specialty from Ministry work to potions. Me—I'm helping George open another shop here in Hogsmeade. Everything's different and it all changed so quickly."

Ron's voice was melancholic. Harry studied his friend's face and saw what he had only seen a handful of times there: despondency.

"Ron, what's happened?"

"I'm meeting 'Mione in Hogsmeade this afternoon. She wants to talk. I think she's going to break up with me."

"What?"

Ron nodded and scratched the back of his neck, ears turning pink. "We've been going downhill ever since she came back to school. She never wants to floo call me, never wants me to come for a weekend. She can't go past Hogsmeade except for holidays, and she spent all of them here. We're drifting apart, and I think she doesn't want me anymore, but if I can convince her to give me just until next fall, give us some time after she graduates…I don't know, mate."

Harry shuffled his feet, unsure what to say. They sat in silence for a moment before Ron suddenly stood and clapped his hands together. "Anyway. Let's focus on you right now. There may not be hope for my relationship, but there's still hope for you. First thing's first. Winky!"

Winky popped up with a slight crack. "Yes, Master Weasley?"

"Please change the bedding and scrub the bathroom. Then bring us up some leftovers from breakfast and coffee. I think we're going to need coffee."

"Yes, sirs." Winky snapped her fingers and the sheets tugged themselves out from under Harry, who was flung off the bed. She snapped again and fresh covers were tucked onto the mattress. While she worked on the bathroom, Ron handed Harry his wand and instructed him to get cleaning.

The firewhiskey bottles (filched from Snape's office, again) flew into the bin, along with old newspapers and some crumpled bits of parchment Harry had tried to start a letter with whilst still too drunk to pen more than garbled jumble of random syllables. Ron opened the curtains and cast an air freshening charm. He tidied up the piles of school items and put them on the desk. Lastly, he set a fire in the hearth, which crackled cheerfully despite the unhappiness radiating from the two men in the room.

As Harry sat in an armchair he heard Winky pop away. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of a meal.

"So tell me how you came to be here again? Start to finish."

"Well. Malfoy came up to 'Mione in the library yesterday morning and asked her to check on you. That you'd promised to talk to her about their Arithmacy project and he hadn't heard from you, nor had he seen you since Sunday night and you weren't opening the door. So she came to check on you and had to work a ton of magic to get through your wards. After she saw the state you were in, she did what she could, but said a sobering charm wouldn't have worked at that point, and there was no way to get a potion into your system. She sent a message right away asking me to come to the castle to check on you before we met and stayed with you all night."

Harry nodded. "She knew about the row I got in with McGonagall?"

"Oh yeah." The food arrived, and Ron paused to help himself to some bacon and toast. Harry took up a sausage for himself and nibbled on it directly from the fork. "Well, you know she and 'Mione work together all the time on the school. She went to deliver some plans for repurposing the old Necromancy corridor, and McGonagall told her all about it. Did you really say those things to her, Harry?"

Harry groaned, "yeah." Harry explained the realization he'd come to about his after-school life, and McGonagall's reaction to it. "She said I need to do more than be an at-home parent, I need to _contribute_ something to Wizarding society. I lost my temper and maybe I wasn't as respectful as I should have been, but I don't regret what I said. The world's got no right to expect anything else from me anymore."

"Can't say I disagree with you. But McGonagall's been worried about you. You know she's always had a soft spot for you, mate."

"I know. I'll apologize to her."

"Good. It'll get 'Mione off my case."

Harry laughed a bit at that, lightened. "I need to talk to Hermione, too. And Malfoy, I guess."

"Yeah, how did that little turn of events come about?"

Harry considered what to tell Ron. He didn't want to give away how he'd been in the clock tower. He didn't want to give away the nature of their conversation, either. It felt like a private thing, his and Malfoy's moment in the tower.

"Malfoy…caught up to me the other morning. Said he wanted to talk. So we talked. He said he wanted to start over and be friends. Said he'd had too much hate in his life, and he wanted no more of it. Said even if we wouldn't be friends, he'd at least like to not be enemies anymore." Harry shrugged. "He came over the other night; actually it was him who suggested that I take time to raise Teddy instead of trying to do that and find a line of work, especially if there was nothing I was passionate about."

Ron nodded. "That's a good idea. You have the funds. And, I mean, if you were a woman, everyone would be behind it, I suppose."

"See?" Harry agreed. "I have to say, though, you're taking it better than I thought. Being friendly with Malfoy, I mean."

"Don't get me wrong—I don't trust the little bastard, and don't let your guard down around him. But we had to grow up after the war. I don't have time or energy for a grudge with Malfoy, and if he says he wants to start fresh, that's a choice up to you. Just know that if I have your go looking for your corpse, I'll beat the information out of him the old-fashioned way."

Harry laughed. "Noted."

Ron stayed for a while longer, before stretching and announcing that he should get going to the Three Broomsticks.

"Good luck, mate. You can come back if you want, later."

Ron gave him a wry smile. "Thanks. See you."

After Ron left, Harry found himself restless and anxious. He knew he should go speak with McGonagall, but was honestly too ashamed of his actions to do so. The gnawing in his stomach rose up as he thought about how rude he'd been.

He could go to the rest of his classes, he supposed, but after he cast a Tempus, found he only had forty-five minutes of Charms left in the day.

Harry shook his head at himself, knowing what he really wanted to do, and shocked at himself for it. He strode over to his desk and took up a quill and a piece of parchment.

 _Draco—_

 _I'm an idiot. One day into a truce and I neglect to do the one thing you asked of me. I'll get Hermione to help you with Arithmancy._

 _Tea again tomorrow?_

 _—Harry._

With a fancy bit of charmwork, Harry spelled the parchment to fold up into a paper airplane, told it to find Malfoy, and sent it on its way.

He then went back to the bathroom and, despite having just showered, drew himself a steaming bath. He relaxed for the better part of an hour, and when he rose from the water, steam plumed from his red skin. He gave his teeth a much-needed brushing, attempted (and failed) to control his hair, and tucked his glasses back behind his ears. He re-dressed in fresh clothes—a pair of brown trousers and a blue button-up—and tied a pair of black shoes.

A tapping came at his door then, and when he opened it, the little airplane flew back in, ramming him straight in the forehead, over and over until he succeeded in grabbing it from the air. He smoothed out the folds—

 _Scarhead—_

 _You are an idiot. 4pm tomorrow. Put out decent biscuits this time._

 _—Draco._

Harry laughed, a half-manic, half-relieved sound, and replied that four would work and yes, he would ask Winky to bring up a good selection.

Next, he found another blank piece of parchment, and wrote a note to An, asking her to meet with him at the Three Broomsticks that weekend. He took the time to walk to the owlry and tie the letter to a brown school barn owl. He figured he'd probably hear from her in the morning.

Harry cast another Tempus. He had an hour until dinner, and intended to make an appearance.

In the meantime, he went to hunt down Hermione. She was, predictably, in the library, bushy hair bobbing over an open book. Thinking on his feet, Harry pulled a quill out of his bookbag and transfigured it into a yellow rose, which he lay on top of the book. Hermione looked up, blinking owlishly, taking a few seconds to really focus on him.

The resemblance between Hermione and McGonagall that second was astounding.

Hermione put her quill down and picked up the rose, turning it between her fingers before glaring at Harry. Her eyes were puffy and red, and a hint of a tremor shook her bottom lip.

Instantly, Harry forgot about seeking forgiveness. He reached out and put a hand on her arm. "What's happened?"

Hermione looked like she was trying to decide between being angry at him or being sad at whatever had made her sad.

Sad won out.

To Harry's horror, tears began to leak out of her eyes. She brushed them away almost as quickly as they fell, but one splattered onto her homework.

Harry's seen Teddy crying loads of times. He knows the four B's: Bottle, Bottom, Bubbles or Bed, and to check Teddy over to see if he's hungry or needs a new nappy, or if he's gassy or sleepy. Harry knows how to handle Teddy when he cries.

Harry has always panicked in the face of Hermione crying. He's never let it show, at least he thinks he hasn't, but he's had no clue what to do when his best friend's face has crumpled before, and nothing had changed when she did it now.

He pulled a chair up next to her and awkwardly patted her shoulder. She threw her arms around him and cried into his shoulder harder.

"It's all so fucked," she whispered into his shirt.

Harry panicked a bit further at swear. Hermione had always been poised, and when she hadn't been poised, she'd been pissed off. Slapping the smirk off of Draco came to mind and Harry had to collect himself quickly before he laughed. Hermione had only cried a handful of times since they came to know each other—usually over Ron's callousness.

"What's he done now?" Harry asked.

Hermione sobbed a couple of times before pulling away and rubbing her eyes with the sleeves of her oversized jumper poking out of her robes. "I can't talk about it here. Can we go back to my rooms?"

"Mine are closer," Harry offered.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I need to show you something in my rooms."

"All right," Harry nodded. He helped her pack up her things and leave a few tomes on the counter for Madame Pince to re-shelve. Hermione seemed to struggle under the weight of her bookbag, so Harry took it from her. They walked in silence to the fourth floor, underneath the Ravenclaw tower. A stained glass portrait of a woman with blonde hair curling in an invisible breeze swung open after touching palms with Hermione and smiled at her.

"Who's that supposed to be?"

"Eileithyia. She's a Greek goddess."

"Of what?" As far as Harry knew, most gods and goddesses in stories had been witches or wizards. There was no reason to honor them in the wizarding world unless they had done something remarkable.

Hermione chuckled, a bit manically. "If I told you, I'd ruin the surprise." Hermione had her back turned to Harry, arms folded against her chest. She spoke without turning.

"Ron broke up with me today because I wouldn't agree to marry him."

Harry blinked, uncomprehending. "What?"

She shrugged. "It was an all-or-nothing deal. Either I marry him within the next month, or, we break up."

"That seems a bit harsh," Harry said, not really knowing how to respond. "A month's not a lot of time to plan a wedding. Molly could do it, I suppose…" Harry derailed his train of thought when he noticed Hermione sobbing again into her hands. He came forward and rubbed his hand along her upper back. "Look, it'll be ok. If you're really that broken up about it, give him a bit, you know how he is." Personally, Harry thought Ron could go sit on the splintery end of a broomstick handle, but if Hermione was this broken up over him ending things…

"I-It's not th-the timing. It's the m-m-marriage. He wants to g-get married for all the wrong reas-s-sons."

"I know he loves you…"

Hermione took a few deep breaths. "Maybe in his o-own way, but after seeing him this afternoon, how he t-treated me, I can't. I just can't go back to him at all. He treated me more cruelly than he did in f-f-first year."

She was still keeping her back to him and he figured she needed some kinds of self-protection barrier, but Harry was getting frustrated not being able to look her in the eye. He tried to tug her shoulder around, but she stood still and shook off his hand.

He backed up a few paces and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I don't even understand why he broke up with you? What happened today?"

She blew out a harsh sigh. "I've been keeping a secret. Only Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey know. Well, I think Madame Pince knows, but she hasn't said anything, anyway…"

" _What_?" Harry begged.

"Do you promise you won't leave me? You're all I have anymore."

Annoyed, Harry walked around and past Hermione, deciding not to give her a chance to avoid his eyes. "Yes," he said as he stopped in front of her. "I'm here, no matter—"

Hermione had undone her school robes. She had on a thick pink cashmere jumper and her uniform skirt.

Which under both protruded a large, round belly.

Harry looked into his best friend's face, took in her quivering chin and welling eyes. "I'm so scared, Harry."

Harry pulled her into his arms. "It's all right, it'll be all right. I've got you."

He decided then and there that his problems were, in fact, trivial. That focusing on his death, on other's deaths, held no importance when held to the life inside Hermione, and how he could help both. In putting his issues in perspective, he let go of his anger and resentment and self-pity and guilt in a breath that made Hermione's hair tickle around his nose.

"I've got you," he repeated, as Hermione began to sob anew.


	5. Chapter 5

**We lost a wonderful artist this week. Alan Rickman, we'll all miss you. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and have a great week. XO**

* * *

 **All in Time**

 **Involved**

"So, I've been thinking," Harry said as he sat down across from Hermine and _thunked_ his book bag down next to him.

"Hm?" Hermione asked, quill un-pausing, eyes still roving the book page she was taking notes from.

"Earth to Hermione, I need your attention, please."

Hermione looked up and blinked finally. "What?" she huffed at him.

"As I said, I've been thinking—"

"That must have been painful," she interrupted with a snicker.

"Shut up." Harry tossed a quill at her, which got stuck in her hair.

"Fine," she said, trying to untangle the quill. "What's your big idea?"

Harry taped his fingers nervously for a moment. "What if I took responsibility for the baby?"

Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What if I took responsibility for the baby?" Harry repeated.

"No, I heard you. But what? Are you kidding me?"

"No, Hermione. Listen, you need help, whether you want it or not."

"Professor McGonagall's already offered to let me stay in the castle until I'm able to be on my own, you know that."

Harry nodded. "I know. But wouldn't you rather be somewhere where the only person you have to face every day is me? Where people won't whisper behind your back or you have to worry about what everyone is thinking? I know I don't want that for you."

Hermione looked at him, eyes watery. She'd been weepier than Harry had ever seen her the past week since she told him about the baby, and he still didn't quite know how to handle her.

"Harry, you can't take responsibility for this. One look at the baby and everyone will know it's a Weasley."

Harry gave a short, nervous burst of laughter. "I don't mean like that. Magical birth certificates prevent you from lying on them, anyway. I mean…move into Grimmauld Place with me. Let me take care of you."

An odd, sort of unwilling hopefulness played across Hermione's face. "Why?"

"Because you're my best friend and I love you, and it's the right thing to do. And I don't want you to do this alone. It's a lot of work, and you deserve someone to help you, and if Ron's too much of a fuck-head to do his job, then I will."

She looked Harry up and down, taking in his earnest face and still-nervously-tapping left hand. "I won't have any way to pay you rent."

"I don't want your money."

"I don't have any furniture or clothes for the baby, or anything else I need."

"Let me help."

Hermione sat there for another few seconds, chewing her lip, before fresh tears flooded her cheeks. "All right. All right. Thank you so much, Harry."

Harry covered her hand with his and squeezed. "Of course."

Hermione dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. When she had calmed down, she pushed a book across the table to Harry.

" _Birth and Parental Rights in Wizarding Europe_? Where did you find this?" It was newer, its cover glossy and bright, and it didn't have the magical heaviness that the library books had to prevent them from being stolen.

"Professor McGonagall got it for me. Did you know that if Ron denies the baby completely, he doesn't have to pay me child support?"

"Of course not," a familiar silken voice said from behind the stacks next to them. Hermione's jaw dropped in horror as Draco Malfoy stepped into view behind Harry, who turned to him. "Patriarchy is the greatest gift in wizarding society. If you're a pure-blood with a penis and the ability to produce an heir, you hold all the cards." He sat casually next to Harry and took the book from him, as though neither he nor Hermione looked terrified and ready to cast an Obliviate.

"Malfoy, please—"

"Don't worry Granger, your secret's safe with me. My credit around the school's so dismal anyway, if I dared speak, I'd be hexed before my sentence was finished." He flipped through the contents and his mouth turned down to a frown. "Where's the information on the loopholes?"

"Sorry?"

"I'll send for the Manor's copy of the laws. This is shit." He tossed the book down onto the table unceremoniously. "If I remember right, there's a loophole where you can petition him for negligence…I don't remember it all." He shook his head.

"What, do you just read about child support for fun?" Harry sniped.

Draco shrugged. "Crabbe got a girl pregnant Christmas break fifth year. I looked into some things for him, until she decided to have an abortion."

"Abortions aren't legal in wizarding law."

"She was a muggle."

Harry and Hermione stared at him in shock.

"What?"

Harry shook his head, "nothing. Nothing."

"So you won't tell anyone?" Hermione asked.

Draco waved a hand. "Of course not," he assured her. "People will find out, though. Even if you live with Harry and become a hermit for the first year, you're going to want to finish your apprenticeship and you'll have to go out in public, and what are you going to do, keep a baby inside for all its life?"

"I guess I hadn't thought that far." Hermione chewed her lip nervously.

"It's going to be fine," Harry said.

Hermione nodded and checked her watch. "I have Runes in fifteen minutes." She began gathering her things and sad good-bye to Harry and Draco.

Left alone, Harry and Draco sat quietly side-by-side for a moment.

"Tea?" Draco finally broke the silence.

"Sure. Mine?"

Draco nodded, stood, and led the way. It was still a bit awkward and stilted, making conversation with Draco. They weren't friends, at least not yet, but Harry wondered if they would be. He found that he liked having Draco's quiet presence by him in front of the fire. Often they would study together, or talk Quidditch. Harry decided to make the tea himself instead of having Winky bring it up, and while he was fussing with the kettle, Draco poked through the things on his desk. Harry had gotten used to Draco rifling through his things; it was a nervous habit he had. He never seemed to be looking for something in particular, just needed something to do with his hands.

"So Weasley has no interest in being involved?" Draco asked, pretending to read a baby item catalogue Hermione had left behind the day before.

Harry made a noise between a scoff and a growl, low in his throat. "Not unless Hermione agrees to marry him before the baby is born." He set cups and sugar on the end table and came to stand next to Draco. "Can he seriously get out of paying child support just by denying the baby, no matter what the birth certificate says?"

"Unfortunately for Granger, yes," Draco answered. "Like I said, though, I think there's a loophole. I'll send for that book tonight."

"That's horrible. For muggles, if you can prove a DNA test, even if the father wants nothing to do with the baby, he'll still have to pay. DNA is the—"

"Shut up, Potter, I know what DNA is."

Harry held his hands up, "just making sure."

"How did the conversation go?"

"Why are you interested?"

"Because if I'm looking into the loopholes, I need to know which ones to look for." He led the way to the armchairs in front of the fire as the kettle whistled and began to pour. Harry took the other chair and nodded his thanks as Draco held a cup out.

"Well…Hermione met Ron at the Three Broomsticks last week and told him about the baby. She said she wanted him to be involved and even suggested they rent a flat together or something. Ron wanted to get married immediately, for Hermione to give up her potions apprenticeship and become a housewife which, if you know Hermione—"

"I barely know her, and I know she would never allow that."

"Right? So, Hermione said that wasn't going to happen, but that didn't mean that she didn't want to separate. Ron blew up at her, screaming that no child of his would be born out of wedlock, and if she wanted the child to be a bastard, it could be a complete bastard, and he'd have nothing to do with it."

Draco shook his head. "He lost a good witch, doing that."

Harry looked Draco over. "Are you…er…interested in Hermione?"

Draco regarded Harry with shock on his face. "Not in the slightest. Seriously, do you not stay in the loop of castle gossip?"

"Should I?"

Draco cleared his throat, and his cheeks tinted a delicate pink such that if Harry wasn't mistaken—"are you blushing?" Harry taunted.

He shot Harry a withering look. "I do not _blush_."

"Sure, sure," he said through a smile. "So what's with the slightly-pink shade ruddying your otherwise porcelain complexion?"

Draco cleared his throat again. "Waxing poetic on me?"

"You got a girl already? Is that the hot gossip?" Harry was having quite a time taunting Draco, whose not-blush was verging on red.

"Not nearly. If you involved yourself in the school's hottest new obsession, you would have heard that my preferences lean toward a more…masculine…form."

Harry shut his mouth, no longer amused. Draco spoke staring straight into the fire, tight lipped and tense.

"Oh."

"Yes. So."

"So…why do you look like you're about to bolt?"

Draco turned his head slowly to meet Harry's eyes. "Ever since you were eleven in a robe shop and clearly had no idea what Quidditch was, I have been fascinated by exactly how little muggle-raised wizards know. And it marvels me still how we have muggle studies for pure-bloods but no wizard studies for muggle-borns."

"I think that was supposed to be History of Magic, but it's been a little dead in there," Harry joked.

"Being…homosexual…in the wizarding world, is not embraced by most pure-blood families. In fact, it's a downright disgrace."

Harry blew out an unsteady breath. "Jeez. How did it get around school?"

"Blaise is like-minded. That idiot Goldstein caught us in an abandoned classroom back in December and opened his mouth to anyone who would listen. Which, given my already pathetic reputation, turns out to be everyone. Blaise is luckier than I am, though. He likes witches just as much as wizards, so he has some redemption in the situation." Draco squeezed his teacup tightly to steady his hands. It was a delicate one with small red flowers that Harry had taken from Grimmauld, and was not magically reinforced.

Harry reached out to Draco's hand and covered it with his. Despite the warmth of the cup, Draco's fingers were freezing and sent a cold spike through his arm. Draco looked between Harry's face and his hand with a wary look on his face.

"It's fine, Draco. It's a shitty situation, but it's _their_ intolerance. It's not something you can change, so don't fight yourself on other people's opinions of you, embrace this part of you."

Draco swallowed thickly, nodded, and took his hands from Harry. "Thank you. That helps a lot, actually." He regarded Harry in a mixture of amusement and contemplation. "Do you just have a desire to fix things?"

Harry smirked, "I've been doing it most of my life. I suppose I don't know any other way."

"Yes, well." Draco cleared his throat a final time and rater deliberately changed the subject. "Now that we've been incredibly personal about my life where's the Weasley girl been? Weren't you two an item last year?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not entirely sure what happened there. After the war, everything about me seemed to change. I didn't want to be with her anymore. She took it rather badly, not that I can blame her. Anyway, I realized that I barely know myself—never really had a chance to become someone other than a fighter, the wizarding world's savior," he mocked. "I told Ginny I just wanted to go back to being friends, but…"

"But you can never go back to just friends," Draco supplied.

"Right."

"Right."

A tense silence ensued, before Draco clapped his hands. "Enough of this talk. Chess?"

Harry smiled and went to grab his set from the mantle. After two games (both of which he was clobbered by Draco) they went down to dinner their separate ways, with plans to meet at the same time on Saturday.

Harry went to sit by Hermione while Draco took the open spot by Blaise at the eighth-year table. She cast a muffliato around them and began talking about an appointment with Madame Pomfrey the next day, which she wanted Harry at.

"I'll find out the sex tomorrow," she said.

Harry nodded. "Great."

"You all right?"

"Fine," he said around a mouth full of a roll dipped in soup. "Just a bit preoccupied." His gaze wandered down the table to Draco, laughing at something Blaise had said, and his mind wandered to imagine Draco laughing at a joke he himself had told. The thought made his chest constrict slightly uncomfortably.

"Harry, what on Earth are you staring at?" Hermione shook his shoulder.

"Eh? Nothing. Nothing, sorry, what were you saying?"

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "I was saying, what do you think of Erich, if t's a boy?"

"I like it," he responded, still a bit distracted by Draco's laugh floating across the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

**I hope everyone enjoys the newest chapter. I wanted to make it longer, but it seemed forced to try it, so there's a chunk already written for next time. Please feel free to review! XO  
**

* * *

 **All in Time**

 **Loophole**

"Oh, I like this one." Hermione shoved a magazine page under Harry's nose. He took it from her with an annoyed frown, which she ignored. Harry took the page and glanced at the walnut cot she had circled.

"If it's what you like," Harry said, and returned to the Latin he was attempting (and failing) to translate for Transfiguration.

Hermione huffed.

"What?"

"Do you think it's nice?"

Harry glanced at it again. "I-I guess."

Hermione's face set in a scowl and she opened her mouth.

Harry headed her off-"What do you want from me, Hermione? It's a nice cot, it looks safe, it's obviously what you like. What else can i say?"

"Give me some actual input, not just, 'oh nice,'" she said, in a poor mockery of his voice.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "I just _gave_ you input. I said that I like it."

"No, you said it's nice, not that you like it."

Harry stood from the desk and faced his friend, readying himself for another argument with her. "Look, what are you doing? You've been picking fights with me all week, and I'm sick of it."

"I have not."

"Oh, yes you have. First it was whether or not I really wanted to be with you when you found out the sex. Then it was because I asked you to make sure you had Mandrake root and not Mandrake leaf stem in Potions the other day. Now, it's this. I've told you, order what you want. If you like it, great, it's not like I'm going to have to look at it all the time, you'll have your own floor of the house. So long as it's safe and easy for me to put together, do what you want."

Hermione seemed to deflate a bit. She sat back in her chair. Her hand went to her belly, though through the glamour it looked flat, and she stared holes down at the table, fidgeting with the corner of one page. "I'm sorry. I just...I hate that I have to rely on you. Don't get me wrong, I'm ever so grateful that you've offered to help me, but..." she shook her head, letting the sentence trail off.

Harry sat back down and touched her shoulder "Look, I get it. Your situation is awful, but I _want_ to help you. _I_ offered. And I need you to put whatever misplaced pride you have about this away, because it's hurting you, and it's not only hard to watch, but I can't keep fighting with you, you're making me sick," Harry chuckled.

And thank Merlin, she laughed a bit too. She ran her finger over the circled cot in the catalogue. She had circled quite a bit-the cot had a changing table attached to it, and she had a narrow wardrobe circled, some toys, and a playpen.

"I'll still need a high chair, she said quietly.

"Have you found one that you like?"

"I like this whole matching set, the walnut. See, it has the wardrobe and the playpen to match, and the two choices of highchair-one with cloth and one vinyl."

"What's the difference?"

"The vinyl is easier to clean, but less attractive and costs more. The cloth has the pattern on it, but is harder to clean, obviously."

Harry nodded. "Does anything else come with the same pattern?"

"The sheet set and a pillow for the rocking chair, but I'm not certain about the chair. Oh, and the curtains."

Harry felt very out of his depth. "Is this a muggle catalogue?"

"Yes. They have selections I like better, and I figure that you can put on the safety charms after setting it up."

"Why not get the vinyl and transfigure it to look like the pattern you like?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, "oh! I could, couldn't I? Thanks, Harry." She immediately circled the chair with the vinyl.

"Get the rocker while you're at it."

"Are you sure? I wasn't even certain if I would need it, I'll have sitting chairs in my rooms anyway..."

Harry waved her off. "You never know. It could come in handy, and even if it doesn't, when she's older she'll probably like to sit on it."

"True. I'll have to keep Crookshanks out of the way," she added to herself in a mutter as she circled the rocker.

Harry laughed. "If he's stupid enough to get his tail under it, it's a lesson he'll only learn once."

Hermione scowled at him, but he could detect a hint of amusement behind it.

They worked together quietly for a bit, Harry fruitlessly translating and Hermione filling out the order form. Once he noticed it getting darker through the windows, Harry checked his watch. "It's the last half-hour of dinner. We'd better get down there." Hermione nodded at him and finished the address to send the furnishings to before standing.

"Oh. Every day my back aches more and more."

Harry rubbed a bit at her lower back until she smiled in thanks and began leading the way to the Great Hall. It was nearly empty, save for some students finishing up dessert and a few Hufflepuffs playing cribbage at the end of the table nearest the doors. About halfway through their meal (shortly after Hermione had scowled at the younger students arguing over points rather loudly) Harry asked, "have you given any thought to names?"

Hermione paused, spoonful of tomato bisque halfway to her mouth, and nodded slightly. She set the spoon back in the bowl and pushed it away. "I haven't decided, but I've been thinking."

"And?" Harry prompted.

She turned her scowl on him but responded anyway. "Last year, when we were in hiding, Ron and I talked quite a lot. Random things, just whatever came to our heads, while you were sleeping or outside or something." She twisted her napkin around her fingers in her lap and looked around to make sure that they and the Hufflepuffs were the only ones in the Hall. Harry cast a Silencio and nodded for Hermione to continue. "One morning, early, the sun hadn't even risen, we were sitting outside, and there was this barren wild rose bush, and he just blurted out, 'I always liked Rose, for a girl.' I told him I didn't care much for it, as it's not unique enough for me, and he explained that for the most part, roses are a symbol of love and femininity and are kind of assumed to be delicate. Then he pointed to the bush and said, 'I bet that bush has had to climb its way through a few rough winters, and still pushes through and blooms the brightest of any flower around here. It's vibrant, and fragrant, and has thorns to protect itself. Besides, each color of rose means a different thing, which means that it can mean a great deal to different people, in separate ways. Sure, people think it's typical, and sure, it's beautiful, but it's a hell of a lot more than either of those things and can catch you by surprise. That's the kind of daughter I'd like to have.'"

Hermione swallowed thickly and Harry prayed silently that she wasn't about to cry again.

"He kind of changed my mind about the name, I suppose."

Harry nodded and searched for a gentle way to state the obvious. "But, Hermione, he walked away. Just because he likes the name doesn't mean that you have to pick it, even if you appreciate it more than you did before."

"I know. I just-" she shook her head. "Not for me. After the things he said to me, I don't care if _I_ ever speak to him again. But it's not right for him to just walk away from her. She deserves more."

Harry nodded again and felt stupid doing it. "That's something he's given up the right to, though. You can pick out something just as meaningful without having to look at your daughter every day and think about, let's face it, probably a wish that's never going to happen."

Hermione looked up at him and thank Merlin she wasn't tearful. Her eyes and nose were red, but no water had welled up in her eyes. Even though her body language said she was done talking about the subject with him, he knew she probably wouldn't get much sleep that night.

"You're absolutely right, Harry." She nodded and thanked him, to which he murmured a "you're welcome," and she sighed. "I think I'm going to go to bed. We have Transfiguration first thing tomorrow. You'd better get those translations done."

He rolled his eyes at her in annoyance and she scoffed and smacked the back of his head as she passed.

* * *

Harry barely scraped by on the translations, which kept him struggling to keep up in the following lessons as he attempted to figure out exactly the phrasing to keep rust from immediately eating away the kettle they were using as a combination air and water purifier. Harry wondered why they would use a steel kettle instead of something _not_ metal, or why a simple purification charm wouldn't suffice, but when he asked the new professor, he sputtered and went red-faced in anger, and Harry realized that he had been daydreaming through the entire explanation, where he had, apparently, already answered the question. Harry was glad that as an eighth-year, he wasn't technically a Gryffindor anymore, therefore had no points to lose, but he never did get an answer.

So, the next Saturday morning found Harry giving translations another, better try, and cursing his way through it, when a knock came at his door. Grateful for any excuse to step away from it before he set the papers on fire, he answered it. Draco stood on the other side, holding his broom.

"Are we going for a fly today?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "I just came back from the pitch. Mother's owl finally arrived with those books, he went straight to my quarters. Blaise met me at the front door with them."

"Oh. Come in, then. Should I send for her?"

Draco thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Let's find what we need to first. No use stressing her out."

"Right."

As Draco unbuttoned his high-quality flying robes and taking off his gloves and pads, a thought came unbidden into Harry's mind. If Blaise had met Draco with the package, then that meant that Blaise had been just idling around Draco's quarters alone. Which, given that it was only nine in the morning, meant that it was very likely that Blaise had been there for the night.

Harry's stomach churned uncomfortably and he ran his fingers through his hair, and did Draco _have_ to look so happy so fucking early in the morning?

"What were you doing flying so early?"

"Hmm?" Draco looked up from the book he had just untied from the brown paper. "Oh. Needed to clear my head." He shrugged and handed Harry the second book from the pile of three, then walked over to his usual armchair in front of the fireplace, flicking his wand at it and igniting the logs. Harry followed him and sat in the opposite chair. "Damn it's cold out there."

"It's April," Harry grunted. If Draco was going to go flying in the morning in mid-spring in the cold, and come in with his cheeks and nose pink and his hair all tossed, forgetting his preferences for perfect presentation, then he didn't have to complain about it to Harry; especially if he could have stayed in bed with his lover.

Draco lifted an eyebrow but said nothing in reply to him, instead instructing, "we're looking for loopholes. Weasley's denied any responsibility, right? That leaves Granger with nothing from him. But the Weasleys are old pure-bloods, whether they act like it or not, and the rules for blood purity are different."

"But Hermione's muggle-born."

"I know. But these loopholes were deliberately put in to protect muggles who had been taken advantage of. I'm just not sure how far they extend."

With some idea what to look for, Harry began reading. At some point, Winky came in and set down a tea tray, and Harry didn't realize that Draco had just called on Harry's regular elf in his own rooms.

It was nearly noon, and Harry had been distracted for the past ten minutes by the way Draco was waving his left leg, crossed over his right, just inches from his own knee, and they had just agreed to take a break for lunch if nothing had surfaced by then, when Draco nudged him with that foot and uncrossed his legs to lean forward.

"I think I found something," he said. "Listen, '...should the mother be muggleborn, and the father pure-blood, the parent(s) or guardian(s) of the mother may petition for child support to help raise the conceived in the amount of 40 percent of the father's income, funds, and property, in the event that A) the mother became pregnant before one year after coming of age in muggle law, & B) the above stipulation can be proved'." Draco took a sip of tea before continuing, "so, basically, Granger's parents can sue Weasley for 40 percent of his funds and income, if she got pregnant before her, what, nineteenth birthday? Right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, muggle law, the legal age is eighteen. She got pregnant the day before she came back to Hogwarts...she would've been...just nineteen days from the cutoff. Can it be proved, though?"

"I'm pretty sure there's tests that can prove it...Flitwick may know, I'll ask him," he muttered in an afterthought.

"There's a problem though," Harry thought out loud. "Before the war, Hermione obliviated her parents to protect them. She set up new lives for them in Australia, aliases, everything. She told me at the beginning of the year, there's no going back on it. She tried."

Draco bent his head over the book and smiled. "'...in the event of A) the muggle parent(s) death, severe ailment, or incarceration, & B) should the mother be too old to require guardianship, a proxy of the mother's approval my appeal in substitute. The substitute must have been of age by muggle standards for at least one year prior to conception.'"

Harry grinned. "Reckon that'll work for McGonagall."

Draco nodded. "I know they're close. And if not her, Granger's got a load of people willing to back her up."

"Yeah. This is brilliant, Draco. Thank you for this, mate. You've no idea." He grinned at Draco, who smiled a bit back before waving him off and running a hand in that practiced manner to settle the strands back where they hadn't been for nearly three hours.

"It's the least I can do. After everything she's gone through, she deserves better. Weasley's a rat bastard for what he's done to her."

"To the both of them. It's a girl, by the way."

Draco nodded, but said nothing and picked up his teacup. "I'm starving. I didn't eat breakfast. Feel like going down early?"

Harry cleared his throat and drained the last of his own tea, and before he could stop himself, blurted-"did Blaise stay in your rooms last night?" He immediately reddened and willed the flames in the fire to whip forward and burn him alive.

Draco snorted in shock. "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. We'd better get down to lunch."

"No, what did you mean?" Draco put his hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him from getting up, and Harry let his arse fall back onto the chair.

"Nothing. I just meant-if you went flying first thing, without going down to breakfast, then that means that, because Blaise received your mail in your rooms, he probably wasn't at breakfast either..." He wasn't making sense, he knew, and he should just _shut up, Potter!_

Draco smirked a bit at him, more with his eyes than with his thin mouth. "And if he did?"

"If he did, then nothing. You know how I blurt out the first unconnected thought that goes through my brain. Can we go now, I'm hungry."

"Blaise stayed in my quarters last night, yes," Draco said, and back came that suspiciously uncomfortable churning in Harry's stomach. "He and I pulled an all-nighter, because he's been spending far too much time trying to woo Astoria and nearly failed his last Defense exam. We finally passed out around four in the morning, he drooling all over my fur rug by the fireplace, I in my bed."

"Oh," Harry murmured, then shrugged as if it didn't matter, and it _didn't_ , because Harry was certainly _not_ thinking about how soft that fur rug would be to lay on. "Ok. Whatever." He stood as soon as Draco unhanded him and shrugged on his cloak. "Are you coming to lunch or not?"

Draco stood and put back on his emerald flying robe, shrunk his pads and gloves and put them in his pockets. "Lead the way, then, Harry."

Harry swore he could feel that smirk all the way down to lunch, twisting around his brain and belly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, all! Sorry it's been so long. It's been hectic. I can't promise a speedy update, but life seems to be settling down, so hopefully it won't be long.**

 **This is the longest chapter I've written yet (yay!) and I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Please leave a review if you liked it. Those are like pizza to my muse-they keep him happy and feeding me in return. His name is Dmitri.**

 **Enjoy! XOXO**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

 **OFFENSE**

Harry had convinced Hermione to come to Hogsmeade that Sunday to meet with An over dinner in the Three Broomsticks. Harry had thought about the Hog's Head, where they would be more or less ignored, but he didn't want Teddy in there—it was still the same place as before the Battle, after all.

The walk down to the village had taken a long time, due to Hermione needing to stop and catch her breath every little while. She was dressed in her winter cloak, even though it was April—and warm for April, at that. Underneath the cloak, she had put on a jumper to try to conceal her belly even further. She asked Harry to cast a light concealing charm over her, but anything more could be harmful to the baby. Between her slight frame, the charm and the layers of clothes, she didn't look suspicious to Harry at all.

She was miserable, though. "Cast a cooling charm on me, would you please?"

"This is the last, though," Harry said while raising his wand. "I don't want to take any chances. It'll be cold on the way back, you should be fine."

Hermione got up from the bench and nodded her thanks to Harry. They turned back onto the path and after a few minutes found themselves on the outskirts of the little town.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea, Harry?" she fretted.

"Yes. Andromeda will be able to give you some advice. Besides, she's found someone to take care of Grimmauld Place, she has to know why I'm putting in the flat and what it'll need. If not you, she'll think I knocked some poor girl up and I'm stashing her in my house to hide her," he snickered.

Hermione smacked his arm. "That's awful!" But she was laughing, also.

"So, did you give any more thought to the name?" Harry asked after a few moments of silence.

Hermione sighed. "Well, it's a tie between Bianca and Perdita, but I'm not sure which."

"Where do they come from?" They'd come upon the main village now, and students were everywhere. Some nodded to Harry and Hermione, others stared. One third-year girl watched wide-eyed and open-mouthed as Harry passed and when he looked at her, she grew red and turned her attention to her feet. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, I've always liked Bianca. Eileithyia suggested Perdita. I haven't had a chance to look it up, but I do like the sound of it."

Harry smiled. "I guess we'll have to see which one she sounds like, eh?"

Hermione smiled up at him and nodded.

Once they reached the Three Broomsitcks, Harry held the door open for Hermione and they entered, looking for An and Teddy. Hermione spotted them in the corner, sipping butterbeer and hot chocolate. She tugged Harry over.

"Harry! There you are, I was beginning to get worried. How are you, dear?" An kissed him on the cheek and grasped Hermione's hand affectionately, smiling her hello. Teddy was fast asleep next to her on the bench. His hair was the mousy brown he had inherited from his father—one of the few times Harry had seen it natural.

"I'm fine. Sorry we're late, it took a bit longer than we thought it would to walk down here."

"It's so lovely to see you, Hermione. I already ordered for Harry, but I wasn't expecting you—Rosmerta, an extra butterbeer, please!" she flagged down the barmaid passing by.

"Er—hot chocolate for me, please, Rosmerta," Hermione corrected.

An's eyebrows raised. "Never seen you pass up a butterbeer before. Especially with ginger and lime." An pointed to the little plate next to her mug with a spent lime wedge and a few vestiges of powdered ginger.

"Oh. Well…" Hermione's face flushed as she tried to come up with an excuse. She looked to Harry, who nodded in encouragement.

The look on Andromeda's face said she already knew, but she waited for Hermione to admit it quietly before asking, "how far along?"

"Thirty-two weeks."

"Oh, not much longer then. Girl?"

Hermoine smiled and nodded.

"And how's Ronald taking it?"

Rosmerta came and dropped off Harry and Hermione's drinks and took their food orders before Hermione spoke. "Not well, actually. He's denied her."

The anger in Andromeda's eyes was enough to make Harry resolve never to cross her. "Well. It's his loss, then, isn't it? At least you'll know she's being raised one hundred percent how you want her to be raised, right?"

"Right," Hermione grinned.

"That's one of the reasons I wanted to bring her with me today. You found someone to renovate the house, right?" Harry interjected.

"Yes. Hold on—" Andromeda pulled a paper from the changing bag. "Dion Delfabion. He's a magical contractor, and he specializes in cursed places. Now, I know Grimmauld's not cursed, but it holds plenty of items that are, and he believes—and I agree with him—that there are probably hidden rooms within the house, and he'll be able to scout them out."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Brilliant. Is this his estimate?"

"Yes. Also, his father was a muggle contractor, so he does hand-made woodwork and tile work imbibed with spells. He suggested things like wardrobes with secret compartments in them for your valuables, and kitchen cabinets carved by hand that bring what you need to you. Tiles in your shower that will stay warm."

"Nice. That will certainly come in handy for Hermione."

Andromeda looked startled. "Is she moving into Grimmauld?"

"Yes. So this estimate is probably worthless. I want the whole third floor turned into an area just for her and the baby. It needs to be done before she's due, so they have some place to go. Kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms. The whole works."

"When's the due date?" Andromeda asked.

"Second of June."

"Oh, that leaves us about two months."

"I don't mind if nothing else happens to the house in that time, as long as the place is ready for the two of them."

Andromeda nodded and took back the estimate. "I'll have a new one drawn up for you, then. Do you have any idea on how you want the rooms to lay, Harry?"

"Not really. I should meet with this Dion, shouldn't I?"

"Yes. Maybe next weekend he can meet you here?"

The food arrived then, and Rosmerta apologized for taking so long. Given how crowded it was in the pub, none of them were surprised, or minded.

Talk turned then to Teddy, and the things he would need in the house, how he was doing, how his teeth were treating him. They were sprouting early, and the latest one was turning out to be stubborn.

Halfway through the meal, he woke up and went straight to Harry with a smile, His hair turned from Remus' mousy brown to Harry's jet black.

Dusk had fallen before they got up from their seats. "We'll walk you to the floo point," Harry offered as he paid the tab.

"That would be lovely, dear, thank you. It's at the bookshop down the road."

There was a small crowd of worried witches and wizards in travelling cloaks outside the bookshop. One of them turned to Andromeda. "Floo?" he asked.

"Yes. Is something wrong?" Andromeda asked. Teddy tugged at Harry's ear, making him look at him. His eyes turned green.

"It's not working. They have someone apparating in to fix it, but it'll be a bit."

Andromeda turned to Harry with a frown. "Oh, no. I've got to get Teddy home. He's not dressed to be in the cold for long."

Harry thought for a minute. "Why don't you come up to the castle with us and we'll see what we can do?"

"I'll send a Patronus ahead, so Professor McGonagall knows you're coming," Hermione offered, and sent her little otter skittering across the town.

By the time they reached the gate of the school, Teddy was wrapped under Harry's cloak, passed out again. Hermione was huffing and complaining of her feet.

McGonagall met them by the gates to confirm their entry into the school and escort Andromeda and Teddy to her office. Harry and Hermione kissed Teddy goodbye; he wanted to keep him wrapped up to his chest until the very last second. He and Hermione were reluctantly pulled into one-armed hugs by Andromeda.

"Oh, my," she said as she looked over Harry's shoulder. He turned around, "—what—?"

Draco stood at the other end of the hallway, deer in the headlights.

"Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing out so late?" McGonagall asked. Her voice was a bit accusing and Harry bristled.

"I had to ask Professor Roybal a question. I missed dinner. I was just headed to see if there was anything left." He didn't move toward or away from their group, staying perfectly still save for his eyes, which darted between McGonagall, Teddy, and Harry.

"You do have a curfew, you know."

Malfoy visually tried to tamp down his irritation. "It's not until eleven, Headmistress. It's only nine."

McGonagall raised one eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing.

Andromeda cleared her throat. "Draco. How are you?"

He nodded. "I'm well, thank you. Yourself?"

"I'm doing well."

"Is this Teddy?" Draco took a hesitant half-step toward him, still snug in Harry's cloak.

"Yeah. Do you want to say hi?" Harry offered.

Draco took another step and Harry met him halfway, turning Teddy around to face Draco. "He's still a bit cold," he explained when he didn't give him to Draco.

A corner of Draco's mouth lifted. "Poor boy. Being made to stay under uncle's arm. It must smell awful under there."

"Piss off," Harry said with no real bite.

Draco took a chubby hand and smiled when Teddy wrapped his fist around a long, pale forefinger. Draco shook it. "Firm grip. You'll do well, won't you?" he cooed. To Harry he asked, "what were you all doing in Hogsmeade?"

"Meeting with Andromeda. She's found me someone to renovate Grimmauld Place. I'm meeting with him next week. Hopefully," he added. "The floo connection was out of order."

"Ah. Why didn't you tell me?" he lowered his voice. A few days prior, Draco had brought up that he would like to see his cousin. Harry had told him he would talk to Andromeda about it, unsure how she cared for Draco.

"I wanted to ask her, but I hadn't gotten a chance yet. I was waiting for the right time. I knew she wouldn't have an answer for me today, though. This is pure serendipity."

Draco met Harry's eyes, still holding Teddy's chubby fist. He nodded. "May I come up to your rooms after I eat?" he asked.

"Sure. I'll leave the door open for you."

Completely oblivious to the dumbfounded eyes behind them, Draco patted Teddy's head gently and nodded to Harry, telling him he'd only be half an hour. He nodded to Hermione and Andromeda as he passed them to the Great Hall.

Harry turned to the women in the foyer. All were looking at him like he'd grown an extra head. "What?"

Hermione shook her head, as if clearing it, and rolled her eyes at him. She had on the look she got when there was a homework question he had trouble with, but she thought was particularly easy. "Nothing," she said. "I'm going to go to bed. It's been a long day. It was lovely seeing you, Andromeda."

"You as well, dear. Take care."

"yes—well, Andromeda, I'll take you up to my office now, you and Teddy can floo from there."

Andromeda took Teddy from Harry after a final kiss, with promise to check in soon and contact Dion. McGonagall shot him an odd look before saying goodnight and leading his godson and his grandmother up the stone steps.

He wasn't quite ready to be alone yet, so instead of going up to his rooms to wait for Malfoy, Harry decided to go to the Great Hall and sit with him.

He had thought the Great Hall to be empty, and it mostly was—save for the six students crowded around Malfoy. Immediately, Harry whipped his wand out and stormed to them. He could hear Goldstein at the middle of it—"eat it, Death Eater! C'Mon, you _eat death_ , eat this!" Laughter.

He could hear a fist banging on the table and as he came closer, he saw Goldstein and a sixth-year holding Draco's face into a steaming bowl of beef soup. Enraged, magic crackled around Harry. He raised his wand and a bolt of red light shot out of his wand at Goldstein, clipping the sixth-year's nose with the hex. Goldstein flung back unconscious, stunned, and the other boy jumped back with a yelp, a blister starting on his nose. Malfoy lifted his head from the bowl, sputtering. His hair was soggy and brown from the broth, and his face was red-raw from the extreme heat of the soup. He bent over and clutched his face, looking like he wanted to cry out, but was unable to.

Harry raised his wand again and called, _Petrificus Totalis Aurus_ , freezing the other four students trying to make a run for it. He sent his stag to McGonagall quickly, then came to stand next to Draco. He pulled him to his feet and gently grabbed his hands away from his face. "Draco, are you ok?"

Draco met his eyes.

In the pictures in the Prophet during the Malfoy's trials, Lucius had always looked composed. Backed into a corner, perhaps, but composed. Narcissa had looked haughty. And Draco—Draco always had this defeated look, like someone had kicked him to the ground and kept going. He looked much like Dobby had in the presence of the Malfoy head. Like the weight of the world—his world, where he was the untouchable pure-blood prince, pride and joy, preened over and pampered—had been set ablaze and the ashes spat upon.

Draco's eyes looked like they had in those pictures.

"Does it hurt?" Harry asked quietly. _Stupid question_ , Harry chastised himself, but Draco nodded slowly. He visually tried to compose himself. To make it look like it didn't hurt. Harry hated that.

Harry bit his lip, "I don't want to try anything. It looks burnt pretty badly, I don't want to risk making it worse. I'm so sorry. I should have followed you in here."

Draco shook his head, careful not to move jerkily. Harry could tell he was in pain, but that the humiliation outshone all of this. He took the blonde's hand without thinking much about it, squeezing. He let go when Draco hissed in pain. Draco brought up his hand—his wrist was already inflamed.

"You were pounding on the table pretty hard. I don't think it's broken, just sprained. Want me to heal it?"

Draco nodded. Harry whispered the spell and after a moment, the swelling was gone and it was no longer purplish-red, back to his normal ivory. Harry rubbed his hand over it, massaging out any lingering pain. Draco's other hand folded over Harry's and he stopped the rubbing. They stood like that for a few moments. Harry's anger dissipated slowly, and his heart beat rapidly under a new, unidentifiable emotion.

The doors to the Great Hall flung open then, and McGonagall and Flitwick came billowing in. McGonagall assessed the students, five stuck in fleeing motions, Goldstein half-propped against the wall he'd been flung against.

Her eyes darted warily between Harry and Draco. "What happened here?"

"I came in and Goldstein and the boy with the burn on his nose were holding Draco's head in his soup. The others were cheering them on. I cast a stun on Goldstein and clipped the other with it," Harry explained, voice unapologetic.

"Was there any provocation on Mr. Malfoy's part?" Flitwick asked as he examined his students.

Harry bristled. He turned, incredulous, to McGonagall, who was obviously expecting an answer to the ridiculous question. "Existing?" he suggested, dumbfounded. "It was six on one, do you really think Draco would have picked that fight?"

"He has a criminal record, Mr. Potter. We have to question all possibilities," she clipped out.

"Then question his monitor!" Harry held up Draco's right wrist. "Draco's kept out of trouble, he's been honestly trying since his trial. Probation is a second chance, not an opportunity for everyone to cast suspicion and harm him! It's certainly not an excuse for others to try to drown him in a bowl of sodding soup!" He met McGonagalls' eyes. "What would Albus say in this situation?"

The Headmistress blinked. She gazed around the room, took in Flitwick rousing the frozen boys and Goldstein. The five others stood in a little huddle, eyeing McGonagall in fear. She turned to Harry. "Take him up to Madame Pomfrey, then escort him to my office. You'll have to keep a hand on him, or else the monitor will paralyze him between eleven and five. I'll take these boys to my office and question them in the meantime."

Even though it was only a quarter to ten, Harry took Draco's upper arm lightly and led him up to the hospital wing, not letting go until Draco was in the Healer's care. He explained what had happened, as Draco couldn't speak.

"No wonder," Madame Pomfrey muttered. "His throat and his nasal cavities—some sinuses, too—are burnt. Had you gotten a chance to cool your soup first?"

Draco gingerly shook his head again.

She pursed her lips. "Anyone can see you've changed yourself, Mr. Malfoy. You don't deserve this."

The look on Draco's face told Harry that if he could speak, he would argue that point with the Healer, but it was gone as she coaxed him to open his mouth so she could pour some potion in. "This won't feel good for a few moments, but it should soothe your throat. You'll have to snort some in for the sinuses, unfortunately. That'll burn."

Draco cried out harshly as the potion touched his tongue, but swallowed obediently. "Oh my—"

"No, don't speak until you've had the rest. You'll hurt your sinuses more and crack the skin on your face."

Draco reluctantly sniffed some potion in, crying out again, but otherwise remaining stoic. Madame Pomfrey then rubbed a cream on his face and into his hairline. His neck was a bit burnt, also, though not nearly as badly as around his mouth and nose.

As Madame Pomfrey worked on Draco, Harry tried to calm himself down. His anger at the injustice of the situation—Draco being taken on, six to one, neither professor concerned about his burns, accusing Draco of starting the fight—threatened to overwhelm him. The only reason he hadn't shouted himself hoarse was the long, slender hand on his own, squeezing harder and harder the more worked up Harry got. He would have some words for McGonagall, Headmistress or no, and if she refused to treat Draco fairly, he'd…well he wasn't sure what he'd do, but Shacklebolt was a good friend. So was Luna's father, now on the school governer's board.

"All right, Mr. Potter, give it about twenty minutes and he'll be good as new. You'll have to take him to the Headmistress' office, though?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She nodded and turned to Draco, "this is a balm you'll need to rub in every twelve hours for a week. It'll prevent any blisters that still want to come up, as well as cracking or peeling. And this, also, if you feel the burn in your throat or sinuses come back, take this in the same manners, five cc's of it. Understand?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Of course. You boys can show yourselves out?" she verified. They nodded and she returned the nod, disappearing through her office door.

Harry looked at the clock. It would be eleven exactly before they were able to leave for McGonagall's office.

"I'm so sorry this happened, Draco."

He shrugged. "Thank you for getting them off of me," he rasped. "One of the boys kept raising the temperature in the bowl. If you hadn't come in…" Draco trailed off and hung his head.

Harry perched on the bed next to Draco. "I haven't been that angry in a long time. And for McGonagall to accuse you—"

"I don't blame her."

"She didn't even consider any possibility other than that you started it! It was completely unfair."

Draco swept his hair into place in that practiced gesture. "It's not, though. I've done such things that frankly I'm surprised I'm not in Azkaban. And she came in on the scene to see a bunch of students immobile, a criminal holding the wrist of a hero. What was she to think? If it weren't us, would you have thought any differently?" Draco challenged. Harry was humbled to realize that, no, he wouldn't have thought any differently.

Harry huffed out a frustrated breath. "It's still not fair."

"You have a very noble idea of what is and is not fair. I suppose it's what makes you an excellent Gryffindor, but a poor judge of character."

"What do you mean by that?"

Draco laughed. "When those boys were holding me down in my dinner, do you know what the only thing I could think of was? That time I trapped you on the train, broke your nose, and covered you with your own cloak. How the tables had turned, and now I was the recipient of such an offense, and how I never had the right to do that to you, no matter how I hated you. I see that now, and I would rather see that than not."

"Even if it means nearly getting your face burnt off?"

Draco smirked. "I'm pretty enough, a scar or two would have made me intriguing."

Harry laughed. "There's the cocky bastard I know."

Draco laughed with him and instantly, back came the odd churning in his belly from so many times in his rooms, studying or playing chess with Draco. Harry had begun to have an idea what it was, and it terrified him.

An hour later, Draco and Harry sat in McGonagall's office, Harry keeping hold of Draco's shoulder to keep the bracelet from paralyzing him. She had explained the other boy's story to them. Unrepentant though it was, it told the truth—however self-righteous it may be. Once the Ravenclaws had gotten to the point where they were raising the temperature of the soup, McGonagall had heard enough. She gave them each detention every night until the end of the year, and was writing their parents that night. She let them go, but not before promising that if they did so much at talk out of turn in class, they would be on the train home before they could shut their mouths.

"Mr. Malfoy, I owe you an apology. I should not have jumped to conclusions. Mr. Potter was right. Though you made some poor choices in your past, even then I believed you to be a victim of circumstance for the most part. You were never given the chance to become a kind person. And I'm very sorry for refusing to see the possibility that you have changed, and forging a friendship with Harry should have been proof enough for me. Although I legally have to take a report from your monitor per your parole, please know that it is not because you need to prove your innocence in this situation to me. Also, please accept my apologies."

Draco looked a bit dumbstruck. "Thank you, Headmistress."

McGonagall nodded. "Yes. Well, let me see your wrist quickly."

Draco held out his hand and McGonagall tapped the titanium band with her wand, pulling out a golden thread of runes.

"I'll send this off tomorrow morning. You'll receive an owl with a written transcription of what happened in the next couple of days, all you should need to do is sign the bottom. A Ministry official may come out, but if so, they'll be more interested in the crimes of those other boys by the time I've had a word with them if they plan on interrogating you."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Of course. And Harry?"

Harry had been on the brink of dozing of when McGonagall called his name. He blinked stupidly. "Yes?"

"This is twice now you've set me straight on acting as a Headmistress worthy of being Albus' right-hand-witch. I also owe you both an apology and my gratitude."

"Er—Yes. Thank you," Harry replied, a bit stunned, but pleased.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Now. Both of you, get out of my office and get to bed. Neither of you get out of class tomorrow, and we all know it's first thing. Bright eyed and busy tailed."

"Yes, Ma'am," Draco and Harry chorused. They stood and retreated from her office, Harry's hand gripping Draco's shoulder tightly.

The clock struck midnight.

"Hell of a night, eh?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded. "Not one of my better ones, I must say."

"All right. Let's get you to your rooms so I can go to bed."

"This way," Draco pointed, and they walked down the hallway.

Neither felt a set of blue eyes watching them as they disappeared in the dark corridor.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello, everyone! Boy, did I struggle with this chapter. In the end, it took a turn I didn't expect it to, but I think you'll like it. I had a few errors, and I think I cleaned it up well enough, but if you spot something let me know.

Also, I'm in need of a Beta. If anyone is interested, please PM me and we'll talk.

As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Leave me a review if you do! Have a safe and happy fourth for those of you in America, and please come back without any blown-off digits.

XOXO

* * *

All in Time

Clash

Draco didn't come to see Harry for four days. They passed in the corridors, met eyes along the table or in class, but though Harry tried to signal the blonde's attention, it was always in vain.

Sometimes, Draco wasn't even in the Great Hall for meals. The past two evenings, he hadn't shown up for dinner. When Harry expressed his concerns to Hermione, she gave him that look—the same on when she was trying to refrain from calling him an idiot to his face—and snorted, "can you blame him?"

Harry conceded her point. After all, Goldstein and his friends had gotten off lightly. Too lightly for Harry, he would have preferred to smash their heads into a dungeon wall. With only six weeks left in their final year, McGonagall's promise to expel them for the slightest infraction held considerable weight, true. But it didn't satisfy Harry. He felt incredibly protective over Draco after witnessing the attack on him, and it made him uncomfortable beyond words to be avoided by him.

It was the Thursday morning after the attack that Harry had finally had enough of his avoidance, and vowed to find him and force him to talk. The day dawned grey and rainy, and Harry shivered as he dressed and packed his book bag. He pulled on an extra long-sleeved shirt under his school jumper before heading to breakfast. If Draco wasn't there, Harry planned on bringing breakfast to the Slytherin.

What he saw made him stop dead and reconsider. Hermione sat in their usual spot at the far end of the eighth year's table, trying to read while she ate. Her hair was pulled back into a messy braid, a few curls framing her face, which she fruitlessly flicked behind her ears with an annoyed huff. As Harry stepped into the Great Hall, he saw Ginny sidle up next to Hermione and offer her a hairpin.

Harry dawdled by the entry. Ginny hadn't sat by Hermione in a very long time, because Harry always sat with her. He and Ginny hadn't exactly been on bad terms, but she still had hope that he would come around to her. Perhaps he'd been too polite, not wanting to see the look on her face when he firmly denied her, hoping she'd get the hint after time. Maybe there was a selfish part of him still wanting her, but he'd never quite been able to firmly deny her advances since returning from his year running.

Mostly, he thought, it was guilt. Oh, he hated guilt.

Ginny had waited until school started up to approach him the first time. She'd cornered him one night when he had visited Gryffindor Tower to give the new Quidditch captain his old playbook. Harry told her he couldn't be with her then. He'd still felt such guilt, such los of direction, loss of self, that beginning a relationship with anyone—even Ginny—seemed unfathomable.

Christmas, which he'd spent at the Burrow, Ginny had snuck a kiss under the mistletoe, and reminded him that she was waiting. When he told her he wasn't ready, and perhaps she shouldn't wait anymore, Ginny had turned cold. Her eyes flashed in anger and she stormed off, grabbed the flask George was offering Percy, and drank a few swallows. She began screaming at George as her hair turned bright violet, and Harry took his chance to leave, Apparating to Hogsmeade.

That was the first time he had snuck into Snape's quarters. Well, snuck would be too strong a word. He'd figured Snape would have had good brews in his home, and since McGonagall had done nothing with it the quarters yet, he might as well try and rummage. The portrait of the murder of crows swung open immediately as he stormed up. Harry gave no thought to why then, just stormed in and took up the first dark amber bottle he could get his hands on. That initiated his ritual of drinking atop the clock tower and contemplating life and death as he drank.

Something he hadn't done since Ron had set him straight.

Ginny ignored him for two months straight after that. He tried apologizing, but she would only get up and leave when he began to talk. Finally, around Easter, she had sent him a letter apologizing and amazingly, said she would wait longer. Harry had no idea how to respond, so wrote her back with a thank-you and did nothing after that, cowardly hoping she would forget or move on.

Now, seeing the redhead trying to catch Hermione's attention, Harry re-thought breakfast—either in the Great Hall or brought to Draco—and retreated quickly.

Harry regretted not just sucking it up and eating, because his stomach cramped angrily at the absence of food halfway through the morning. He was looking forward to lunch after assisting Roybal's fourth-year Defense class especially; he had been tasked with half of the room, giving assistance with a shield charm, and damn that poor Holly Rivers, she couldn't get the hang of it and ended up getting both herself and Harry blasted across the room from a much more adept classmate. The blast and the spellwork had left him hungrier than normal.

When he exited the class, still showing Holly the wrist rotation that was part of the issue, Ginny was waiting for him in the Foyer. She headed off his entry into the Great Hall, tugging on his sleeve and nodding toward the doors outside. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Harry sighed. "I only have a few minutes," he stalled.

"I'll be quick," she promised, with a bit of threat in her voice, and led him to the courtyard.

The rain had cleared up, and it was humid and growing warm. The rain had brought up the smell of the earth, and the odd scent of the lake carried over to the castle. Ginny's normally smooth, flat hair, had frizzed out in response to the humidity, and Harry remembered how she hated when that happened, and how she always swore every spring she would cut it, but come summer it still nearly reached her waist.

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from playing with a wayward strand sticking straight up from her head.

"I didn't see you at breakfast," Ginny stated.

"I-er-woke up late," he lied.

He was positive Ginny saw through the fib, but she let it go. Harry could see her mustering up her courage to speak her mind. At a complete loss what he could possibly say, he kept his mouth shut and endured the awkward silence.

Finally, Ginny blew out a harsh breath and spoke. "Look. It's been nearly two years since we were together. I thought we would be when you came home, but I understood when you needed more time. Then at Christmas you said we should be friends, and I was bitter, and yes, childish when I ignored you, and I'm sorry for that. But I thought…maybe you just needed more time, and I told you I could wait longer, and that seemed to be what you needed. But I can't live like this anymore, Harry." A breeze lifted Ginny's ponytail and Harry let it distract him as she gathered the rest of her thoughts.

"Something's changed," she continued after a moment, "and it feels like there's someone else on your mind. You smile and initiate conversation more than you have in months, you've begun to put back on weight that you've lost. You've spent so much time with Hermione lately, and Ron's broken up with her. She's my best friend, but I have to ask—"

Harry held up a quick hand. "It's not Hermione." Too late, he realized the hidden meanings of his words.

"But there is somebody?" Ginny clarified. Her eyes dulled, her shoulders slumped, but thank Circe, she didn't begin to cry.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "There's—I don't know. I'm not sure. But Gin—"

"I get it," she interrupted. "You've been putting me off to spare my feelings, but you've just made it worse. You should've just told me you didn't want me anymore and been done with it."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too. At least it wasn't Hermione."

Harry fought not to open his mouth and remind Ginny that Hermione couldn't deal with the stress of a new relationship right now. The last thing he wanted was to let loose about the baby.

Ginny turned to leave, but twirled back around with her mouth already opened and her finger pointing at him. "Word of advice, Harry? Whoever this is you think you like—don't keep her waiting. Make a move. Even if you're not sure you like her enough, even if you two don't work out, you can't lead her on or pass up on the opportunity."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Gin. You'll be ok?"

Ginny gave a wry, slightly sadistic, smile. "Stay away from wand's reach of me for a few weeks. We'll be all right. We're practically family, after all."

Harry gave her a sort of half-chuckle and watched her go.

Harry went back inside, but didn't go to eat—his appetite had vanished. Instead, he went to his rooms and sat in front of the fire, turning over what Ginny had said, this odd attraction to Draco, in his mind.

Harry had never before been attracted to another bloke. And it was only after Draco had confessed his sexuality that he himself had even considered it. But it seemed that the more time he spent around Draco, the more Harry thought about being with him. The more they sat talking in front of his fire, the more he wished heir crossed knees would accidentally touch. He would glance across the table and hope that their eyes would cross. He sought out company of the blonde more and more, and when he had seen Draco attacked by both Goldstein and the professors, Harry had fought furiously in his defense.

When they had touched in the Great Hall, and in the infirmary, Harry did everything not to let go.

He wasn't gay, though.

At least, he didn't think he was. Except for Draco. Was that a thing? Being gay for one person? Did that mean he could be attracted to another man, if it was a certain type? He'd never thought of it before. He'd never seen Seamus or Dean changing in the dorms and given them a second thought. He'd never once been in the Quidditch locker room and given any of his teammates an overlong glance. He wasn't gay.

He thought of that first night in the clock tower, when Draco had sought him out, and Harry asked what they were now. 'Does everything need a label?' Draco had said. He supposed it didn't, but it would make him feel better.

After a while in front of the fire, Harry stood and gathered his things for Potions, resolved. He would corner Draco after the class, which they shared, and speak with him. Force Draco to talk to him, confess his attraction, _something_. Anything was better than this.

Slughorn had them working alone brewing a high-strength pain reliever, which took all of Harry's attention and most of his remaining patience. When they were dismissed, Draco stood quickly, bag already packed, and jetted out the door. Harry was close on his heels and ran to catch up. He grabbed Draco's elbow and yanked him into an empty classroom.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, Potter?" Draco spat, wand raised. His hair was disheveled and his bag crashed to the floor.

"Trying to have a conversation."

"Oh, wonderful conversational skills, I really feel compelled to spare you my time."

Harry huffed. "Cut the attitude, Draco, and put your wand away."

Harry waved his own wand and lit the candles on the walls of the classroom. There was a mountain of unused tables and books behind them, taking up over half the classroom, and to their left, an eight-foot-long dragon skull. It was freezing, but that wasn't what made Harry shiver as he stepped closer to Draco, who scowled as he holstered his wand.

"What do you want? I'd like to get to dinner."

"You and me both, believe me," Harry replied. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Draco said, "what makes you think I've been avoiding you? I have my own life you know. It's not my job to provide entertainment to you."

Harry couldn't find it in himself to be angry. He knew words were the way Draco avoided confrontation. "You have been, don't lie to me. Why?"

Draco crossed his arms. "I have a life. I've been falling behind in my studies, and if I get less than Acceptable in anything, I won't graduate, as per my parole. Please, excuse me for neglecting your need for companionship."

"That's crap and you know it. You've never gotten anything less than an E on your finals, and even when you did you pissed and moaned about the injustice of it all." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I get it, look, I really do. It's fucking embarrassing when someone has to save your arse, but it's no reason to pretend I don't exist. It's not like I think less of you or something."

"Shut up, Potter. You know nothing about it."

"Back to surnames?" Harry said with a note of sadness.

"What, did you think we were _friends_?"

That made anger bubble in Harry's throat. "Cut the shit, Draco. Why else have you been coming to my rooms for the past two and a half weeks?"

"Because you're the only one in the school who tolerates my presence."

"Because you're an insufferable arse!"

"You're the one with the hero complex! I'm not some piece of charity work, fix me up, make me look all pretty to your friends and congratulate yourself on a job well done, Draco's not a waste of air anymore!"

"Is that what you think?" Harry asked in disbelief. "You think the only reason I spend time with you is to change you into what the world wants you to be? I couldn't if I wanted to!"

Color tinged Draco's cheeks. "Well then why else would you want to be around me?"

Harry shoved his shoulders, "because I happen to like you, you complete fucking arse!"

Draco pushed back. "No one likes me! People fear me, or they hate me, or they pity me!" he pushed again. "No one gets near me without being paid to, and since the only thing worthwhile to you is goddamn saving people, that makes me a fucking project!" Draco's voice cracked and a fist landed on Harry's chest, but he refused to rise to it. "So tell me, what other motivation could you _possibly_ have to being my 'friend'?"

Harry took Draco by the tops of his arms and shook him. "I'm not a fucking Slytherin. I don't have any motivation other than the purely selfish one of wanting to spend time with you." He gave Draco another shake, then let go. "You've lived your life as a pawn long enough, and I know what that's like, and I refuse to treat you as such. So whether you like it or not, you're my fucking friend, and you're just going to have to handle the fact that I don't want a goddamn thing from you other than your time. I don't pity you, I don't hate you, and I sure as hell don't fear you. I—" Harry paused, took a moment to catch his breath.

Draco stood as if paralyzed, watching Harry carefully. He seemed to war with himself for a long moment before squaring his jaw. "And what would you say if I told you I wanted more from you than that?"

Unsure he heard correctly, Harry's witty answer was, "huh?"

Draco crossed his arms. "What if I wanted more?" He took a step closer to Harry. "You know how I am. I confessed everything to you, what would the great Savior of the Wizarding World do if I told you that the past four nights I've had dreams that would make a whore blush? All starring him? If I told you that I've fought erections during Quidditch games since we were in third year watching you on a broom? How the past two and a half weeks have been the only decent thing in my life since the Dark Lord came back into power, and I needed to get out before you realized and I turned into some sideshow freak to you?" Draco took another three quick steps up to Harry and stood staring him down. "What then? Could you blame me for keeping distance?"

Harry's breath stuttered in his chest. It had never occurred to him that Draco would be attracted to him these past weeks, let alone for years. The thought filled him with adrenaline, sent him trembling. Body ahead of his mind or his mouth, Harry leaned up to close the mere six inches that separated, and pressed his mouth to Draco's.

Draco didn't respond for a moment. He made a funny, shocked noise and brought his hands to Harry's shoulders and pushed him back, a fearful, astonished look in his eyes.

"What? Scared?" Harry taunted, a bit out of breath.

Draco's eyes narrowed and he shot forward, crushing Harry's lips and curling one hand into his messy hair, the other fisted his jumper at the small of his back. Harry wrapped his arms behind Draco's shoulders and sighed into the kiss.

This was different than kissing Ginny. She was soft, hesitant, demure. She opened her mouth when Harry tapped it with his tongue and followed his lead when he pushed for more.

Draco took. He was long and lean and hard angles, and there was no asking for entry into Harry's mouth, he licked at it once and used his lips to open Harry's and explored the curve under his top lip, traced the sides of his tongue, shook Harry into participating, exploring him back. Harry's hands gripped tighter into Draco's shoulders and he kissed back, biting Draco's lip and teasing the sting with his tongue. Draco pushed Harry back into a cold stone wall and removed his hand from his hair, joining the other one at his back, lifting his jumper and shirt to feel the skin there. Goosebumps erupted through Harry's body at the touch and he shivered, earning a chuckle from Draco.

"Sensitive, are we?"

Harry couldn't have formed a reply if he tried, only breathed out a little moan.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he whispered. He kissed the lobe of Harry's ear as he tugged the rest of Harry's shirt from his trousers, fingers smoothing over his belly. "It was bad enough to see you before, when you hated me, to watch you fill out, see your skin darkened after summer, watch you fly. But recently, seeing you casual, in just a shirt and jeans, relaxing, being able to look my fill of you in your rooms with your guard down? It's torture. It was agonizing, not being able to do anything about it." He reached up and skimmed his thumbs over Harry's nipples, earning a gasp and another moan.

"D-Draco. How long?" he managed to utter.

"How long have I been this attracted to you?" he shrugged. "Like I said, I began noticing you about fourth year." He pressed a gentle kiss, followed up by a teasing nip, to Harry's neck, just under his ear, and Harry swore he just about died. "But I've been obsessed with you since first, you must realize that by now. How long have I sought your attention, even in the cruelest of ways?"

Harry thought about it, and ever since Draco learned who he was on the train, on their way to Hogwarts for the first time, Draco had been a permanent fixture in his life, never able to shake him. Truth be told, he was probably just as obsessed with Draco as Draco was with him.

Harry released Draco's shoulders and allowed his hands to roam along his back, taking in the soft texture of his own jumper (it was the same school-issued uniform, but how was his always so much more downy?) and over his slim hips, to rest along his belt.

Draco reclaimed Harry's mouth and pressed forward a bit, invading his mouth just as a hardness met with his own, growing painful behind his trousers.

They kissed for long minutes more, pressed up against each other, but not crossing an unspoken line to more. It was becoming too much, and Harry was about to make the decision to either take them to the floor or steal away to his rooms, when hiss stomach growled, bringing them out of their haze. Harry rolled his eyes, embarrassed at himself, as Draco laughed.

"Hungry, I take it?"

Harry sighed. "I missed breakfast and lunch."

"Just as well. I'd hate us to be found out."

Harry realized they had never bothered locking the door. "Oh. Er—right."

Draco pecked him a kiss to the lips and stepped away, fixing his hair in that one practiced move and smoothed out his clothes. Harry tucked his shirt back into his trousers and cleaned off his glasses, smudged by Draco's cheek and nose.

"Let's get some dinner. Then maybe go to your rooms?" Draco suggested.

Harry smiled. It was the best idea he had heard all day.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Hey all! Sorry it's been a while. We had a death in the family. Anyway, I know that this is a bit shorter than previous chapters, but I hope that the contents make up for it._**

 _ **Don't forget to review! XOXO**_

* * *

 **ALL IN TIME**

HEAT

TThe thing about confessing attraction is this—at first, there is an explosion of emotion. Kissing, feeling, vulnerability in so many forms that it leaves you brave and stupid on a great number of hormones. After you cool down and go back to normal, however, all bets are off. Where do you begin again? Was it all what you thought it was or were you merely daydreaming? Would they still want you after seeing that vulnerability, or would the other party decide it was all too much?

Harry rolled these fears around in his head as he and Draco ate dinner at opposite sides of Hermione. She was talking about Slughorn's class of fifth years who started a fire in the supply closet and she had had to extinguish, as the professor had left her in charge to "make a quick trip to the toilet" half an hour previously. Harry only caught every other word, as preoccupied worrying about Draco as he was. Eventually, Hermione realized that the lights were on, but no one was home, and opened a book against the water jug to read. She left soon after, Harry not quite catching what she said to the pair of them.

Harry chanced a glance at Draco, and found the blond already staring at him, grey eyes darkened as in a storm over the ocean, and swirling with as much electricity. Wordlessly, he dabbed his mouth with his napkin, set it aside delicately, and stood. He didn't motion for Harry to follow, but he saw the beckoning sway of Draco's slim hips all the same. He tossed his fork down and pushed off the bench gracelessly, ignoring the tittering laughter of those nearby.

He couldn't bring himself to care if they noticed how quick he was to catch up to Draco, or if they saw how tight his trousers were, trying to hide behind his oversized jumper. Draco led the way to his own quarters, which he had never let Harry see before. They were on the sixth floor, well away from the other seventh-year zones, and he wondered vaguely whose choosing that was.

Draco was several yards ahead of Harry, and waited for him at his door, gripping the handle, trembling slightly and rattling it a bit. Harry caught up to him and expected to be welcomed inside, but Draco didn't open the door yet. He looked at Harry for a long moment in the deserted corridor before speaking.

"I've never had anyone in my quarters before," he confessed in a surprisingly unsure voice.

"Not even Blaise?" Harry asked, then regretted instantly.

But Draco, mercifully, chuckled lowly. "Blaise doesn't count much. He's known me in worse states than this. He doesn't give a shit about anything I do."

"Well, I would be honored to be the first that counts." Harry's heart was pounding behind his ribs, he felt it might leap from his chest if he didn't get his hands on Draco or vice versa soon. He put a hand on the Slytherin's on the door.

Draco blew out a short puff of air. "Just don't—don't walk out, alright? If you want to go to your rooms to be together—" and how Harry shivered at the suggestion—"we can. Just don't walk out on this. Please," Draco whispered. It was discomfiting to hear Draco plead.

"I won't leave," Harry soothed.

Draco nodded, took a breath, and opened the door.

The lights flared on at once, candle light, all over the place. Bare candles spilling wax onto the mantle, on every available surface, wrought iron candle trees taller than Harry, even an old plate with the Malfoy crest on top of a tottering pile of old books, wax dripping down onto the covers. The walls were the same height as Harry's, but painted a swirling blackish-blue, smatterings of royal purple and deep green and bright yellow and pink, flowing aimlessly across the ceiling. Spots of pure white twinkled magically amongst the other colors, and harry had the vast, small feeling of falling upwards into the night sky.

"Galaxies," he gasped to himself. He tore his eyes from the ceiling to take in the rest of the room. It was set up much differently than Harry's. The door to the square room opened to a quaint sitting area, with a plush throw rug of forest green softening the stone floor. A small loveseat sat in front of an end table used as a coffee table, with unwiped tea stains and a burn scorched into the wood. The bed was sideways to them, headboard against the wall, under a window with fluttering gauzy curtains. At the foot of the bed sat a cedar chest, very unlike the trunk that housed their school things, and it sat on another soft green rug, in front of the fireplace. To the right of the hearth stood a door which Harry supposed was the bathroom, and to the left (making the walk around the far side of the bed tight) was a tightly curved spiral staircase. It opened up above the wall over the fireplace and bathroom. The whole room seemed cramped and tight, and harry wondered if the loft was supposed to keep the bed.

Harry shot a glance at Draco, asking permission. Draco sucked the corner of his thin bottom lip into his mouth, considering for a moment, before nodding once, jerkily. Harry climbed up the stairs. Draco stayed down, one hand on the railing, watching Harry ascend with a mixture of worry and lust playing against his sharp features.

Harry gasped when he came into the landing. It was an open room, just big enough to have fit the bed comfortably, with the chimney the only obtrusive thing, separating the loft visually from downstairs. Every wall had canvases laid against them, painted in the most luxurious colors, landscapes and animals and most of all people. There were about a half dozen stacked against one wall, renderings of their classmates, taken from memory, he supposed. A very small oil rendering of Hedwig was tucked in amongst them, soaring against the backdrop of the lake. Harry's heart gave a painful lurch at the sight. He turned around to see Draco had climbed the stairs, and was standing shyly against the chimney stack. He looked like either he was about to run, or he was about to make room for Harry to run.

"Draco, this is incredible. I had no idea."

Draco seemed to relax a bit, smirking, not trying to be modest at all, but not boasting either, simply accepting that Harry liked his work. He still seemed a bit on edge, however, and Harry looked at the corner on the other side of the brick, where the blond's still stormy eyes kept darting. There was an easel set up, and a brick shelf jutted out around the whole chimney, paints and brushes and teacups filled with old water and paint stains were stored on it. There was a canvas sitting in the easel, maybe the size of a bathroom mirror, and it may as well have been one, for what was painted on there.

Harry recognized the unruly black locks whipping around his jawbone, and the tanned skin, the green eyes and crooked smile that had looked back at him from many a newspaper. In this, he was rendered in his Quidditch robes, flying and free and grinning widely on the pitch. He had one hand on the broom handle, the other sweeping his hair back, and the triumphant look on his face suggested a goal had just been made in his team's favor.

Harry whipped around to face Draco, who quickly stumbled forward, unlike his usual self, and shoved his hands in his pockets nervously.

"It's not quite finished," he murmured. "There's still some background, and the robes aren't how I want them. I didn't get the line of your cheek quite right, and I'm not sure how to fix it—"

Harry put his hand over Draco's mouth. "Why?"

Draco gulped audibly. He seemed to war with an answer, coming close to uttering one but never getting the sound out. Finally he just dropped his gaze to his feet (Harry wondered when he had changed into soft grey slippers) and sighed. "I told you already I've been all but obsessed with you for years. Only recently has that obsession turned into…wanting. I've wanted you so badly, and that image has been in my head has been there for so long, I just had to get it out. I know it probably seems unstable of me…" Draco trailed off.

Harry cupped Draco's chin and lifted his gaze to meet his own. "It's amazing. Thank you."

The worrying that Harry had done during dinner—whether he still wanted him, whether things would be different now that their fervor had calmed a bit—it was erased by the clear emotion breathing life into Draco's painting. He leaned forward to press his lips to Draco's. He sighed into the kiss and wound his long fingers into Harry's mane. Arousal played along with the tentative air around them, as their tongues touched again, just a tap, just a little hello. Draco pulled back slightly, still gripping the black hair, tightening—it should have been painful, and there was a pinch, but it felt good, and Harry moaned softly.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked. "Whatever happens tonight, I don't know if I can go back to how we were without it crippling me. I already have so much going against me. You've been the only person to see me for me, even after all I've done to you, and I can't…I just can't handle you leaving too."

Harry had never thought Draco capable of being this vulnerable. He knew there was a bit of bad blood that still needed cleared between the two of them, however…in the end, it didn't seem to matter anymore. They were friends. Friends with an incredible attraction to each other. After the events of tonight, possibly more. Harry didn't want to be anywhere else. He certainly didn't want to be alone. And he absolutely wanted to be in this loft, where Draco felt comfortable bearing his soul, both to his canvases and to Harry.

"I'm not going anywhere, Draco," Harry whispered. He pressed forward to Draco, and let the other man take control of the kiss with a groan.

Draco took his turn pushing Harry backward. It hurt a bit as he was shoved into the shelf on the chimney, but he ignored it in favor of the feeling of Draco's fingers leaving his hair to brush over his jumper and lift it from him in a fervent, jerky movement. He ran his hands over Harry's chest and the brunet shivered in response. Harry felt the smile left on his mouth and let out a shaky breath in response. Draco kissed and suckled along his jaw and neck, clamping over Harry's collarbone and nibbling the flesh gently.

Harry gasped loudly, his hands went to Draco's waist and pulled him closer, brushing their erections together tightly. Draco groaned in response, bucking his hips into Harry.

"Harry…Harry wait." Draco pulled his head back from Harry's neck, but kept their groins pressed against each others as he tried to speak around heaving breaths. "What have you done before?"

Harry felt his traitorous face redden. "Nothing with a bloke, obviously. Some with Ginny, not much." It was embarrassing, admitting it to Draco. He'd never been prudish or embarrassed to talk about his sex life, though he didn't blab to his friends what he did with Cho or Ginny. Besides his best mate being his girlfriend's brother, he felt it was private. But when they were together, he enjoyed taking the lead, requesting what he needed, encouraging Ginny to say what she wanted. Neither were innocent—Ginny had lost her virginity long before Harry came along—but Harry had only had the opportunity to feel her mouth around him before he left for the woods. He felt completely out of his depth with Draco. He knew how two blokes got together, but didn't know which position he would like, if he would even like either.

Draco nodded. "Then just relax for now. We don't have to do anything, and tell me to stop if you need. Right?"

Harry nodded back. It felt nice, he thought, a warmth in his chest, for Draco to sort of be taking care of him. Walking him through the unknown.

Draco took Harry's hand and led him to the middle of the floor of the loft, where a third soft green rug lay, and pushed him to lay back on it. He felt awkward and aroused and excited as he watched Draco shed his own jumper, under which he wore only a snow-white undershirt. His arms were long and sinewy, lean muscle Harry had known was there but hadn't had the pleasure to gaze upon. His skin was a gorgeous alabaster, prominent blue veins crisscrossing each other in patterns Harry thought he'd like to trace with his tongue.

Harry didn't miss the way Draco attempted to hide his left forearm behind his hip. He lifted up on his elbows and reached for Draco's hand, pulling him down onto the floor. Draco came willingly, lowering down beside Harry and raising his right arm to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

Harry reached out and gripped Draco's left arm. Draco shook his head and resisted, but Harry was stronger. He pulled the Marked arm toward him and ran his fingers over the skull. Draco flopped down onto the ground and stared at the ceiling, watched the swirling colors as Harry traced. When Harry pressed his lips to the tattoo, Draco shuddered and turned to him.

"Harry—" he whispered.

"I don't think less of you for it, if it helps. I think you did what you had to to survive, and that makes you very brave. I used to think differently," he admitted, "but now I see it for what it really was, not what I wanted to make it out to be."

Draco just looked at him, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide. Harry leant over and kissed Draco, slowly, sweetly, at first. Draco opened his mouth to Harry, and the air instantly changed, charged with energy, and Harry found himself flat on his back, Draco crushing him wonderfully, resting on his elbows, hands tugging his hair. He kneed Harry's legs apart, lowering their straining erections together and groaning when Harry bucked up to meet him. He reached down and unbuttoned Harry's trousers and, with a little shimmy from Harry, lowered them down enough to reach inside his briefs and pull out his leaking cock.

"Oh, fuck," Harry grunted as Draco pulled back the foreskin and ran his thumb around the slit. He spread the wetness there around the head of Harry's prick and stroked. Harry ran his fingers under Draco's shirt, caressing and exploring his stomach and chest, running over the flat nipples, pebbling up. Draco hissed at the contact, arching into Harry's touch and running his still confined cock against Harry's thigh. Harry grinned and pinched them lightly, reaching up with his mouth to lick along the soft skin of his neck.

"Harry…Harry…please," Draco moaned. Harry didn't know exactly what Draco was begging for, but he had a good idea. He reached down and fumbled with Draco's buckle, snapping it against his thumb and cursing at the pinch. Draco laughed against his mouth as he traced his tongue along Harry's parted lips.

"Shut up," he growled out, with no malice, and bit at Draco's tongue. He yanked Draco's trousers and pants down over his arse, kneading the flesh under his hands. Draco let out another hiss, and Harry thought he could get used to causing the blond to make that sound. He ran his thumbs over pale hipbones, and lifted with one hand on Draco's chest to see his cock. He licked his lips and groaned—it was long and thin, like the rest of him, with not enough foreskin to cover the straining purplish head. A drop of pre-cum glistened at the tip, and dropped onto Harry's hip.

Harry wrapped his hand around it and gave it a firm tug.

"Fuck—oh fuck—Harry…" And without warning, warm, wet, sticky cum was splattering against Harry's shirt; Draco was gasping and grunting over him, his hand gripping Harry's cock almost painfully, as he came. His veins were standing out in his neck, and Harry turned to run his tongue along one, biting teasingly.

Spent, Draco rested his head at the crook of Harry's neck, panting. After a few breaths, he resumed his own tugging on Harry's cock, using a bit of his own cum to ease the way.

"How did you do that, Harry? Not as innocent as you make out to be, getting me off like that. You have no idea what you do to me," Draco whispered into his ear, tugging on his prick and fisting his hair in long tapered fingers.

Harry felt hot and chilled at the same time, like when the temperature raises on an already warm day. Goosebumps rose on his flesh, and a knot warmed in his belly, unraveling with each pull and push of Draco's hand. Soon, he was aching and begging, thrusting madly into the hand that fed him pleasure. He tried to speak—to say what, he had no idea, but only managed a few garbled syllables, "Dra—" the most common among them.

The knot in his stomach grew hotter, unraveled faster and faster, until finally, he fell over the edge, scrambling for any sense of dignity and failing as he grunted and clawed at Draco's shoulder, coming in pearly streaks along his own shirt.

Draco kissed Harry's jaw sweetly as he lay next to him, hand still buried in his hair. They lay for several minutes, breathing heavily, and harry felt himself growing warm and sleepy.

"Wou—would you stay? Please?" Draco requested, in an almost fragile voice.

Harry grinned over at him "I'd like that."

Draco got up and tucked himself back into his trousers, then helped Harry up, who did the same.

"We have more to talk about,' Harry said tentatively. He didn't want to spoil the moment, but also knew it couldn't be ignored.

"I know. Tomorrow? You look like you're about to pass out."

Harry nodded and followed the blond down the stairs to the bed. He undressed to his briefs, and lay in the bed next to Draco. Slowly, Draco lifted his arm around Harry's middle and curled into him. Harry put his arm under Draco's head and shifted so he was able to put his other around Draco.

It was wonderful, holding someone again. In the aftermath of frenzied pleasure, to hold and be held, drifting off to sleep, under the light of a painted swirling galaxy, he felt hopeful for his own little world, that everything could work out for him.

Him and Draco, together.


	10. Chapter 10

_Holy shit you guys. If you're still reading this, you're a good sport. I've had a helluva time lately. Main problem is my computer not working, so I had to wait until after taxes to get a decent one, but I've been writing this chapter over...mmm...two, three months? I love my kids and my job, but they're major time sucks. I'll tell you that I can't promise any good timeline for updates, but now that I have a working computer, it shouldn't take six fucking months again. I hope you like this chapter, it's very sad. And Microsoft Office is being a bitch and a half, so if I missed anything in editing, pretty please let me know so I can fix it._

 _Seriously, I love you guys. XOXO_

* * *

 **FRESH RAIN**

 **CHAPTER TEN  
**

 **BREAK ME  
**

* * *

Time is a tricky, fluid thing. If someone told me the week that Lily was in the magically induced coma could have lasted years and I wouldn't have argued. In the months between Christmas and the end of term, merely a handful of days.

The Sunday dinners at Lily's house have continued, though I've only been able to attend a little less than half of them, due to my work schedule. Finals are careening toward me steadily, and with them more grading and prep work and headaches. Lupin had, indeed, taken the first batch of my new experimental potion, and it hadn't worked. Black glared at me all night that February night as his lover thrashed and howled and raged against his cage. Lupin refused any more experimentation, which I couldn't begrudge, but promised to ask some of his werewolf acquaintances when he met them. No luck, so far.

I'd seen Mary a handful of times over the spring. We had no romantic aspirations to each other, but took comfort in the others' beds (or shower. Or kitchen table.) whenever we could. I could sense her becoming distracted, though, and she'd been talking about a colleague of hers when we spent time together innocently. I wondered how much longer I had until my left hand would have to make up for Mary's absence.

With the end of the school year, and my employment within those stone walls, there has come a sense of anticipation and eagerness that belongs not only to the students, but myself as well.

Such a thing has driven me to prove my worth, to make this school regret losing such a valuable member of staff. My insipid pupils have taken it upon themselves to prove that they are as intelligent as an inbred batch of flobberworms.

The cacophony the morons create the second to last day before finals reverberates off the stone walls, echoing in my head and pounding down my spine.

"Silence!" I roar to the classroom. Silence does, indeed, follow, and I cast my best glare at the group of third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins.

"No brewing today. For your blatant disrespect-and idiocy-you will all read and summarize chapter twelve of your books. Due at the end of class. Begin."

A chorus of grumbling meets my tired ears, sweet as music, then the rustling of pages and blessed quiet. After I am sure they are all concentrating on their own work, I pull a book out of my robes. It's small and black, one of three identical ones I found while rummaging through Lucius' things looking for answers about the Dark Mark for Bobica. Along with three or four spellbooks that looked promising (all banned in Europe, of course), were these three blank diaries with an air of Dark Magic around them. One thrums heavier and more sinister with Darkness than the other three, and I dared not bring it to class to study. There's something abjectly wrong with that one. I can determine the particular magical signature wafting from the book as the Dark Lord's.

I place the book on my desk, behind my shield charm-my only protection against idiots-and just look at the ting for a few minutes. I've cast spell reversal charms and revealing charms and even used muggle black lights to try reading something on those blank pages.

Nothing.

The scratching of quills irks me, disrupting my thinking. It's nearly enough to make them stop but that may come across as generous and I don't do generous.

It's a diary, I register, finally, my own stupidity finally dawning on me. It's meant to be written in. I pick up my quill, dip the nib into the red ink I reserve for grading, and let a drop fall onto the paper. It shimmers a moment, pearlescent, then is absorbed into the diary. Disappears. The book flips open the fir first page, where three droplets of ink rest in the page, in black ink.

Ah. That must be the trick. I know I musn't do anything more until I am free of classes. The anticipation irritates me as much as the scratching of quills has and reduces my limited stores of patience even further.

At the end of the class, I summon papers, some students still scribbling furiously, and fan them out. Holding the semi-circle of papers up for the whole class to see, I point my wand and cast Incendio, then drop the flaming work into the bin.

Gasps follow the incantation, and I am satisfied that this is a lesson in respect well-learned.

"Do I make myself clear?" I ask quietly. Nods and angry murmurs reach my ears and I dismiss the lot of them. I only have to see them once more, on Thursday, and that's the only thing keeping me from following them down the hall with the fire after one of the Gryffindor shits rolls her eyes at me.

Hours later, in my blessedly silent rooms, i again open the diary. I ready my quill and poise it over the first page. What would I be searching for? Dark Mark? I write it in, the paper shimmers and drinks in the ink, and nothing happens. I flip through, and still blank papers.

Voldemort, I try again, bile rising as I force the vile name onto the page.

Red light, just a glow, beams sporadically through the book from within the pages, the first brighter than the rest. I turn the page and find, in black ink, in an unfamiliar cursive, the name at the top of the page-TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Below that, random words, beginning with the root MORT. The French word for death. It's placed in the beginning, middle, ends of nonsense words which I quickly realize are developing anagrams for the Dark Lord's given name. it continues as such over a few pages, slashed out more and more viciously as frustration at failure grew.

Finally, on the last page, he seemed to have taken a different approach. I AM is written at the top of a new page, with the given name, the I, A, and M crossed out. More long-lettered nonsense, until he seemed to realize that LORD was under there. Halfway through the page, I AM LORD -MORT is written, underneath that, the assembled random leftover letters which were played with until they reached what I recognize.

At the bottom of the page, written beautifully, all frustration gone from his penmanship-

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Crossed out neatly, with purpose, then under that-

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Pages after that which glow between the diary's pages were where Voldemort had been written in entries.

I slam the book closed, and the glowing ceases. It would seem that he had hidden his writing from everyone-including himself-unless you knew what to ask for.  
Desperately, I try again-tattoo-summoning-tracking-nothing comes.

I close the little book and pick up another-less worn than either of the previous, but I am not ready to open the one which radiates Dark Magic, and looks like it should be in-between the two, based of how handled they look. The stench of it fills my chambers, and I'll have to cast multiple cleansing spells to get rid of it.

My first search in, this book yields exactly what I am looking for. The pages glow red and the first glowing entry tells me everything that I have been looking for. I can hardly believe my luck as I read.

"I think I may have done it. A way to call my followers to me when I need them. To reach them across a country, an ocean, to call them to me. It must be placed into skin, drawn on by a wand with the incantation. I had thought, perhaps, something simple and easily hidden, but more and more I wish my followers to be reminded daily of their allegiance to me. Traitors will not be tolerated.

"Siberia is cold and unforgiving, but I found a fox-a feral, nasty, filthy thing, half-starved anyway. I cast the spell on him, drew a simple line into the skin of his underbelly, where the fur was thinnest, and then I put him to sleep for an hour as I walked away.

"I then summoned him to me, calling him by pressing my finger to my own mark I made last month. It took him thirty minutes, but he came charging to me, and lay at my feet, ears back and belly exposed in submission.

"Success tastes sweet indeed. I had no use for a sickly little fox, so his suffering was quickly ended. I wonder if I could mark the Basilisk as such. I leave next month for Hogwarts again, and if that fool denies my request for employment, perhaps I can sneak into the Chamber of Secrets and if nothing else, prepare her for servitude to me."

Below is the spell, along with the directive to draw the Mark on the person as wished,

Ig in sanguis, venite dominus, fidelitio aut matem

I was too much agony during my own initiation to hear or remember the words the Dark Lord was saying, but something in them resonates in my soul.  
I close the book, thoughtful. It wouldn't do to try to create what Mr. Bobica and I are trying to achieve with larger scale communication with inspiration using the Dark Mark. Not that I expected as much. Coming back empty-handed to the boy after Christmas didn't discourage him. He still has hope that he'll invent something, and the determination to boot.

I let my gaze linger on the unopened diary. Finding out secrets that lay within the first two-one from Tom's earlier days starting at Hogwarts, the other from after he'd graduated, recounting his wanderings and learning experiences-had been uncomfortable and I am sitting, still trying to keep the hairs on the back of my neck down.

I decide not to open the neglected diary, sitting there smelling worse than the others, and feeling even more sinister by simply existing. I gather all three and take them to Albus.

I explain the curiosities about the two I explored, a cup of tea and a tin of lemon drops ignored next to me. I show how they are blank until requested for information. The look on the Headmaster's face is one of astonishment and intrigue.

"Severus..how did you get these?" he asks quietly, unable to erase all of the suspicion from his voice.

Bitterness enters my voice as I tell my lie, so rehearsed that even I half believe it. "Narcissa has been cleaning out the manor. She recognized the Dark Magic coming from them and gave them to me. She asked that I destroy them, however, I noticed this one seems darker. I figured that it would be best to bring it to you."

Albus looks over the three little black books, a carefully-placed look of curiosity on his face, no apology for his distrust in me. Now that I have revoked my servitude to him, Albus is less trusting with everything he says or does around me. Certainly it's frustrating that my trustworthiness to this man I was a spy for is now under scrutiny simply because the carrot he dangled-Lily's safety-is mine. But besides the affront to my dignity, I can't bring myself to care. He'll have to figure this mystery out on his own. After a few minutes of him silently looking over the books, Albus sets them aside and nods to me in thanks. "Tell Mrs. Malfoy that if she comes across anything else she is suspicious of, that I would deeply like to study it."

I nod in agreement, though I have no intention of doing so necessarily.

The old man's demeanor changes with a simple sigh, from intense and calculating to twinkly grandfather. He smiles as he speaks. "So, my boy. There's only a few days left in term. Are you eager to be out of here?"

"I am looking forward to my next venture, yes," I answer. No need for him to know how ready I am to be done with this place.

"All of your things in order?"

I nod. The few belongings I wish to bring with me I am able to shrink and bring in a suitcase. My lab instruments, more sensitive to magic, I'm having shipped to Ms. marckword's home, where they'll await my arrival in July. We had settled on mid-July rather than the first, as I had originally wished, as she was vacationing in South America this summer. The only thing left to deal with is my home in Spinner's End, which has been on the housing market for two months without much interest. The realtor suggested that I invest some money in remodeling to gain more interest. I agree-the place is an old row house stuck in the forties. It also feels sinister in a way, thought that may be from my past and memories therein. Perhaps if I reinvent the house it will purge the bad energy, either real or imagined.

"Getting there," I reply. "I have only the house to sell. I intend to spend the six weeks I have free to get the place inviting to potential bidders.

Albus smiles widely. "On to new adventures, then, my dear boy! Spain is beautiful, particularly the coast."

He pulls two small wine goblets from his desk and pours brandy in each. He passes one to me and toasts.

"I'm not going to be able to enjoy the coast much, Albus," I remark after I drink. I can always trust the Headmaster to have good spirits.

"Ah," he waves his hand, shooing my protests like a fly. "It's not only the coast. The woods surrounding Blanca's property are sure to hold your interest. Not to mention the ladies."

I snort. "It is the last stop on a pilgrimage trail. I doubt I'll find many ladies willing to enjoy a wizard." I shake my head at him and down the last of the brandy.

"Besides," I sigh, "I have no interest in beginning a romance whilst being consumed with my mastry work. I have no need for that amount of stress."  
Albus smirks and nods in acquiescence. "I suppose. Ah, well. You're young yet. You've plenty of time before settling down. Finally meet a girl worthy of your qualities."

The words are innocent, but I understand the warning. Take this time to leave Lily alone.

I neither confirm nor deny that I understand Albus' words, but end the meeting shortly after. Albus thanks me again for turning the diaries over to him as I take my leave. I nod in response and bid him goodnight.

Six days later, I am finally, finally free. No longer chained to those stone walls, the tiresome children, the infernal moving staircases.

The clamor of children fades from the halls around noon, as they head to Hogsmeade and the train. I pull my suitcase to the entryway, prepared to apparate away to a new life. last night I had roamed the halls, visiting my classroom one last time, bidding farewell to the solitude the owlry has always given me. I'd said my good-byes to the only colleagues I have a damn about-Minerva and Albus-the day prior. Taken one last bath in my glorious tub this morning.

At the gates of Hogwarts, I turn and look upon the castle and grounds. The breeze shifts the Whomping Willow's limbs, and I quickly glance away from that damned tree. Hagrid is bent over his garden, his stupid Mastiff nursing her newborn pups not far away. I know inside that castle is an end-of-year party tonight which I've never attended held by the other professors and staff. Which I will never again have to make my excuses for.

I sigh, breathing in the fresh summer Highland air, and raise my wand above me to apparate away.

I land in my house in Spinner's End. Every cell in my being resents the necessity of returning to this dingy house.

The garden out front is overgrown and I know the back will be no better. The creaky door opens to a sitting room big enough to hold only two small chairs in front of the fireplace. How my father ever managed to fit his old staticky black and white television set in that room still defies the laws of physics. Directly behind my father's old chair is the kitchen, and to the right of that, the stairs. On the upper floor is a landing scarcely large enough to turn around on, my tiny childhood bedroom on the left, the master dead ahead, and the third bedroom and bathroom behind me, above the living room. The bedroom against the far end was bigger than the one I ended up moving into once I was around eight, but the screaming and sounds of fists on flesh rose from the sitting room too easily. It didn't matter anymore, I suppose, since I had been living in the master bedroom-which only boasted about five square feet over the other room.

I set my things in the living room for now, undecided as to where to put them since I'll start moving things around tomorrow. The charmed icebox still has some cheese and a loaf of bread, and I make a mental note to buy groceries after I eat two bites of the technically safe but disgusting sandwich I threw together.

It's only three when I fall into bed, after casting a dust-removing charm.

But if I must be here, where memories haunt me and the sounds of abuse and screaming fill my ears long after the deaths of my parents, at least I will be here to ensure no family after me knows about it.

The next few days are busy. I've hired a magical contractor to help with the things I don't know how to do. The house is quite old, after all, and I know nothing about electricity.

After walking the man-Eddie, he insisted, with a firm handshake and a rough clap on my back-around the house, he asks me to give him a couple of hours and he'd have an estimate for me. I decide that it would be a good time to pay a visit to Lily.

I call out her address to the floo network, and the second I am sucked up, I feel an odd shudder from underneath me. I land safely in Lily's hearth, to see her levitating five or six colorful scarves in the air for Harry, who is jumping up and trying to catch them.

"Severus! Hello, I didn't think you would come over today. How have you been?"

Lily's magic has been steadily climbing and she's gained magnificent control over it, and the healers think perhaps there might be hope for her magical strength after all. I smile proudly at her as I lean over and kiss the top of Harry's head and then hers.

"I'm well. I hadn't planned on coming by, but I may need to go back to the house-something happened in the fireplace behind me as I left. The contractor wanted to survey the house and I thought I'd take the two of you to lunch, however..." I look behind me at Lily's perfectly fine hearth and shrug.

Lily let the scarves fall on Harry, who flops back onto the floor laughing loudly, "more, more, Mumma!"

She smiles fondly at Harry for a moment before turning to me. "Lunch sounds wonderful, Severus. We could apparate to the house and see what the trouble is and go from there?" she suggests. "I could stand to get out of the house for a while, either way."

It's not often that Lily stays in her pyjamas-she calls them jammie days, of all godforsaken terms-and today is one of them. I offer to change Harry while she gets ready, and she promises to hurry.

I take the both of them in side-along and when I come to the house, it looks fine from the outside. Eddie is inside, inspecting the fireplace carefully, which looks the same as I left it, but he a bit shellshocked.

"Mr. Snape, I'm glad ya came back. Did something happen when ya floo'd away?" he asks, nodding to Lily and turning back to me.

"Yes, it kind of...shuddered. I thought perhaps it had collapsed."

Eddie shakes his head, "nah, it wouldn't'a done that, or ya'd be dead in a pile a bricks."

I shudder at the visual.

"Bu' it's close to it. Don't use the floo no more til I can figure it out, right?"

"Of course. Is it safe to continue your inspection?"

Eddie nods and waves me off. "Go on. Gimme til around two an' come back. I'll have an answer."

I bid goodbye to the contractor and walk with Lily and Harry, toddling along between us, holding on to our hands, to a little cafe close by.

"When do you leave?" Lily asks after we've ordered, and there's sadness in her voice.

"On the seventeenth of July."

She nods. "I'll miss you," she says.

Against better judgement, I take her hand. "I'll come visit whenever I can. Definitely around Christmas. And don't forget Harry's birthday, I'll be back for that."

"His birthday is on a Saturday, so we'll have the party that day. Can you stay until Sunday?" Lily gives Harry a sip of water and pulls a plastic chain out of her purse to occupy himself with. He clicks the pieces in and out of place as we talk.

"I should be able to." I rub her palm absentmindedly with my thumb. She hasn't pulled away, and my heart beats doubletime in my ribs. Heart failure would be a sweet death at this moment, I should think.

Lily gives me a tiny smile. "Good. We haven't' spent much time together in the past few months."

I nod. "I apologize about that. Work has been unmanageable. Had been," I correct myself. "I'll make it to dinner tonight, though. Every one until I leave, I assume."

That earns me an earnest smile. "That'll be so nice to have you there."

When our meals come, Lily busies herself cutting Harry's chicken into smaller bites he can eat with his fingers. I can tell something is on her mind, but I can't ask her outright. She's like a cat-let her come to you.

When we arrive back at the house at Spinner's End at a quarter to two, Eddie is upstairs in the bathroom, head under the sink.

"Well, I have an idea for ya," he says as he wipes his hands on the dingy blue coveralls. "To just get the floo fixed an' the electrical and plummin' up to code, I figure you're lookin' at about six hunnerd galleons."

I nod gravely; it's about what I had expected.

"Ya plannin' on remodelin' as well?"

"Yes, I had. I'm not quite sure how yet."

Eddie cleans off his glasses with a handkerchief I'm sure will make them even dirtier. "I have someone I collaborate with on projects like this. If ya want, I can give her a call and we can work together. Come up with a design, that way ya won't have to worry about interferin' with any work I've done or nothin'. Interested?"

I look at Lily, who nods and says, "It's probably a good idea, Sev."

"Sure. Let's do that. I'll get estimates before any work gets done, right?"

"'Course. Now, I placed a anti-heat charm on some a the wirin' in the kitchen, 'cos that's a nightmare in there. I'm shocked the place hain't burnt down an' taken the other houses with it. Ya might wanna find a place to stay until at least that's fixed." Eddie's eyes dart between us like he's calculating something.

"I'm guessin' the two a ya are gonna be livin' together after this place is finished anyway, what's a couple weeks early? Hain't waitin' for the wedding night are ya?" he chuckles.

Lily looks at me, mouth open and eyes sparkling in mirth.

"Oh-we're not-" I start, but Lily's arm snaking through mine interrupts me.

"Darling, we can't hide it forever. Of course you can move in a bit early."

Eddie grins. "I thought so. Finally makin' an 'onest woman. That's a good boy ya got there. I'll get back to ya tomorrow Mr. Snape and Connie can meet us at the house to talk."

I can feel my face reddening. An odd anger that I can't place snakes its way up from my belly to my throat and I swallow against it. "I'll just go gather my things, then," I say, and jerk my arm from Lily's.

"Sev-" I can hear her shocked voice behind me, but I ignore it. I shrink my suitcases and stuff them in my pockets again. Lily's still standing at the edge of the garden, looking worried. I force myself to calm down as I wrap an arm around her shoulders and apparate us back to her house.

Lily clears her throat. "Severus...I'm sorry if I-"

I wave off her apology. "I know my way to the guest room, Lily. I think I'll rest a bit before dinner. Do you want me to lay Harry down for a nap?"

"Oh-er, sure. Thank you." She gives me the boy-the boy I wish with every fibre of my being were actually mine-and I lay him down in his cot.

The guest room is pretty and simple, with a narrow bed and desk and a wardrobe I stuff my shrunken things in to deal with later. I take off my shoes and coat and strip to my boxers before climbing into the bed. I hadn't honestly needed to rest but now that I am up here, it sounds better than mulling over the disturbing anger and melancholy banging around my brain.

When I wake up, it's dusk. I suppose it was the arrival of the mutts which woke me, as I can hear their voices. I stretch the stiffness from my muscles and dress again and make my way to the end of the hall, checking on Harry on my way. He's not in his crib, and I wonder exactly how long I was asleep for.

I can hear Lily and Lupin and Black in the kitchen and dining room and halt just before the bottom of the stairs when I hear my name come from Lily's mouth.

"-and he's been up there ever since. I don't know if he's actually asleep or just avoiding me."

"Even if he's angry, he's not the type to ignore you, Lily," Lupin comforts her.

"Besides, what would he be angry with you over?" Black speaks up.

"I don't know. We were having a good afternoon. We went out for lunch, then to his Spinner's End. He has a contractor looking at his house to renovate it, and he said the electricity wasn't safe for Severus to be living there." She gives a little amused snort. "Eddie-the contractor-actually thought he was selling because Sev's moving in with me so he should just move in before the wedding. He said it's good he's making an honest woman of me," she laughed.

The dogs are silent for a moment before Lupin says softly, "Lily...are you out of your mind?"

"What?" Her voice suggests she's insulted.

"How could you be so...cruel?"

"Cruel how? I thought he'd get a laugh out of it."

A long pause, then-"Fucking Merlin, she doesn't have a clue..."

"Babe, how do you not know?" Black asks, scandalized, and I brace myself against the wall for the words I know are coming out of his fucking stupid mouth next. "He's been in love with you for ages."

I shut my eyes as tightly as I can. I could hear a pin drop, and then Lily's nervous laughter. "No he hasn't."

"Why do you think he was in the hospital with you? Even I wasn't there that much, and I'm your best friend," Black says carefully.

"You were in prison."

"Even after then."

"But...he's with Mary. He sees her at least twice a month. I know they've...they're together."

"You can be with someone without loving them," Lupin sounds like he'd rather be anywhere other than in that kitchen.

"Oh God. And Eddie thought Harry was his..."

"I'll tell you now, Severus couldn't love Harry any more than he does now, even if he were actually his father. It kills him."

"How have I not known this?"

Black's voice is surprisingly sympathetic. "You've been wrapped up in your own stuff. And you shouldn't feel guilty about it, because I know you will. It's shit that you have every right to be wrapped up in."

"Plus, he's very good at hiding it," Lupin adds. "Severus doesn't want you to feel pressured or guilty. You come first to him."

"Did he tell you all this?"

"He didn't have to."

"I feel sick."

"Lily, don't let on that you know this. I'm sure he doesn't want you to know. And you don't want to give him hope if nothing's going to happen, you know?"

"Right." A long sigh. "Gods, I feel like such a fool."

"No more than he does, I'm sure," Black mutters.

"You...do you feel anything for him, Lily?" Lupin asks quietly, and I know then that he can sense me listening in. He's getting information for me, and I appreciate it as much as I want to run to the toilet and eject my stomach contents into it.

"He's my oldest friend. I've never considered him that way. I love him, but...but not the way he wants it, I'm sure." She sounds miserable.

"Then whatever you do, don't lead him on."

"I would never!" she cries out.

"I know you wouldn't on purpose. But just be aware of what you're saying and doing."

"No more holding his hand, I guess," she sighs.

I decide I've heard more than enough. I make my way back up the stairs and deliberately open and close the guest room door, and make sure my feet are heard on the stairs. When I get down, Black and Lupin are sat at the bar, drinks in hand, and Lily's back is to me at the stove, busying herself with it. Harry is watching some puppetry show in the den, gnawing on a cat toy. I say my hellos and go to replace the catnip-filled burlap with a soft stuffed puppy. When I come back to the bar, Lupin shoots me a sympathetic glance and I nod at him.

If nothing else, my few years as a spy taught me to be a fabulous actor. "I needed that nap, Lily, thank you. I'm sorry if I was a bit grumpy earlier." I give her a lopsided smile and she returns it with eyes beginning to redden.

"No problem, I'm just glad you're feeling better."

"I am. Need any help with dinner?" I ask.

"Erm-do you want to take the potatoes from the oven and unwrap them? They should be ready."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

I don't know how many times a heart can break until it can survive no further abuse, but I have a feeling it would be a very slow death.


End file.
